


He Has Far To Go

by Magikz



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, post university
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 52,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magikz/pseuds/Magikz
Summary: He's no longer The Chosen One and at 22, with school behind him, Simon has to figure out who he is... and what he means to Baz. Add to that a world full of nasty people that the Mage pissed off who are looking to his son to settle old claims.





	1. Time to carry on

SIMON

 

There is a swirl of chatter and laughter and squeals around me. It all fades to the background when I find Baz’s eyes in the crowd. He’s smirking. No, he’s smiling broadly, almost laughing, and holding my gaze. Penny catches my hand and pulls me forward. We’re in caps and gowns, our ceremonial diplomas in hand, and we’re walking toward Penny’s parents, a couple of her siblings, Micah and Baz.

 

Baz puts an arm around my waist and kisses me with a smile still on his face, as if I am the only one here, the only one who walked across the stage today. I blush at his affection. I know how he feels, though. I felt it when I watched him at his university graduation just three days ago. We all turn together to file out. Tonight, we’ll go to a nice Indian restaurant with the Bunces and have champagne. Later, Baz and I will make love until we’re breathless, then wrap ourselves in each other’s arms, talk softly about how proud we are of the other, and fall asleep. I want to remember every moment tonight and let my heart run free.

 

Tomorrow, I have to tell Baz I’m leaving him.

 

 

BAZ

 

I am not the type to indulge myself, but these last few years have made me stop assuming the worst and maybe even expect something great. Like when Simon finally gets out of the shower, I’ll pull him to me for a kiss, and I know it’ll be great. Just like last night was and the night before…

 

So, now I want to indulge in summer break. My summer breaks were usually consumed with pining away for Simon hopelessly or getting kidnapped by Numpties or managing my family’s demands or extra classwork. Now, school is done, the Old Families are merely status-seeking and not war-mongering, and Simon is all mine. While he’s in the shower, I am looking up places he and I can go for a month-long vacation. Maybe Japan or Jamaica (though the sun would sting rather badly) or Croatia.

 

Simon walks into the living room, his hair still wet, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I tug at his hand, he bends over for a quick peck and sits in the chair next to the couch.

 

“Come here. Let me show you this,” I say, looking back to the laptop and images of blue water and white sand.

 

“Baz, I – I need to talk to you about something.”

 

“Yeah, what’s up?” I’m still scrolling.

 

“I applied to this job and, well, I got it,” he says, swallowing the last word.

 

“Simon! That’s fantastic! When did this happen?” I put away the laptop and reach for his hand. I didn’t think I could feel more proud than I did at his graduation yesterday, but I do. “What is it? Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“It’s with an organization called Mumbai Balak Vikas. I don’t know if I’m pronouncing it right, but they work with foster homes around Mumbai, and I’ve been offered a position to work on data management. The job is in India.”

 

Simon clears his throat. A hundred questions are already running through my mind. Simon continues.

 

“I applied because, well, because… I…Anyway, I thought for sure they’d prefer someone, you know, Indian. But they said in the interview, that they wanted someone with strong English skills because some of their major funders require a lot of reporting in English. Haha…I bet you and Penny would think that’s hilarious. Me and English skills …Plus, I told them some of my own story growing up in foster homes here… that I would be totally committed to the work.”

 

His eyes dart to and away from my face as he talks.

 

“When are you supposed to start?”

 

“June.”

 

“In a month?” I let out a sharp breath. “Crowley, Snow. I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me about any of this earlier.”

 

“Baz, I’m sorry,” Simon says. I’m about to launch into how he should have planned in advance but he cuts me off. “I don’t know how to say this, but, I have to do this alone. I have to go without you.”

 

Simon searches my eyes and I start to understand. My face becomes hard, and my breathing slows down as I wait for Simon to continue talking.

 

“I have to go without you,” he repeats. “I didn’t tell you sooner because I was still deciding, and I had to be certain before I told you.”

 

Simon reaches for my hand, but I won’t move. “Baz,” his voice is soft, “I need to do this. I’ve been thinking for some time about – about…”

 

“About what, Snow? Spit it out,” I say, loudly and with a slight eye-roll.

 

“About everything I’m afraid of. And I’m afraid of everything.” Simon finally says, talking slowly. “I’m afraid to be alone. I’m afraid I won’t be able to take care of you and Penny the way I should be able to. I’m afraid I’ll forget what magic even felt like. I’m afraid that my most meaningful time was in high school, and the rest of my life will just be down hill. I’m afraid that when we’re 50 – maybe much earlier – you’ll stop being impressed by me and you won’t love me anymore.”

 

“Simon, where is all this coming from?” I say. “What will it take for you to understand that I love you?”

 

“It’s not that, Baz,” Simon says, sighing. “I’m tired of avoiding the things I fear. I want to be strong and fearless – like I used to be. I think I can take on big problems, but I don’t really know. I’ve not tried since Watford. These last four years, you and Penny have been amazing. You’ve been my rock. I wouldn’t have survived without you. But I have to do _this_ without you because I need to go without a crutch. I need to know I can pick myself up.”

 

I let out my breath and pull at my hair – a habit I picked up from Simon. “Ok. Ok. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. We’ll just do a lot of Skyping, right? And visits. It seems to have worked for Penny and Micah.”

 

“No, Baz,” Simon is saying, and I see tears welling up in his eyes.

 

“No, I mean, I have to do this without you. I have to let you go. If I know you’re here for me, I don’t think I could keep myself away. And I can’t ask you to wait – I really don’t know if I’m going to be gone for six months or six years.”

 

I give a short dry laugh and stare him down. I was planning a trip with my boyfriend while he was planning to break up with me. I should have known better.

 

After a long silence, I say, “Right. Sure. Fine. I get it, Snow. We’ve had a few good years, and now it’s time for you to get back on track with your life. Glad to have been such a sturdy crutch in the meantime.”

 

“It’s not like that, Baz.” Snow shakes his head. “I love you, I just...”

 

“Yeah, well, your love for me always seems like an afterthought,” I say. “Good luck, Snow.”

 

I stand up swiftly, too swiftly. I want him to stop me or tell me I misunderstood, but Snow is quiet with his head hanging down in his hands. I grab my laptop and jacket. I’m racing out the door, and I can’t see anything in front of me.

 

 

SIMON

I knew it would be bad, but this is horrible. I hurt Baz. I don’t know how to make that right, and still do the right thing. A hundred times, I picked up the phone to call him or text him, but I don’t know the words to use.

 

Penny stayed the night at her parents’ place after graduation. She came back in the early afternoon and we had tea. I told her my plans, and, of course, she told me her opinions.

 

“Simon, India is not an easy place.”

 

“How would you know? Just because your mum’s Indian? You’ve never been.”

 

“You don’t have to go to know it. And I have visited, you know,” Penny says. “You think running an apartment and managing little crises is a pain in London? Wait until you’re in a country where you don’t know the language and everyone sees you as a foreigner and the water is questionable at best and the electricity cuts out regularly…and your job! Damn, Simon! Your job is going to be a nightmare, and you’ll be all alone dealing with it.”

 

“I know! I know, I know, I know. That’s what I want,” I say. “I want it. You remember how I used to fight monsters? You remember how I used to go to a different home every summer and still make it back to Watford ready for anything?”

 

“So, what, you’re bored? You didn’t choose to fight monsters at Watford, Simon. They found you, and you did what you had to do. Why would you purposefully seek out something so difficult? And all on your own?!”

 

“I’m not looking for trouble! I’m a 22-year-old adult, not a fucking child!” I’m almost shaking with anger now. I take a deep breath. “I’m looking for _purpose_. I wasn’t a victim at Watford, Penny. I know you had this fantasy to take me away and hide me from the Humdrum and everything else. What happened – with Ebb and—and—and the Mage – it was fucking awful. I didn’t want any of it to happen. But it made me stronger. For magic’s sake, I would’ve never faced how much I was in love with Baz if I didn’t know how to take on difficult situations.

 

“I’m just barely recovered, thanks to you and Baz and my therapist. But…. I still don’t recognize myself some days.”

 

Penny’s listening. She’s scowling and she’s crossed her arms tightly across her chest, but she’s listening.

 

“I am terrified!” I choke out. Shit, I don’t want to cry again. I clear my throat and lower my voice. “This is not a joyride, Penny. I’m terrified of taking on something so big and completely outside of what I know. I don’t know how this will work. I don’t know if I’m worth anything apart from you and Baz. I – I just have to try _something_ … I don’t want to hurt you or Baz. I love you both more than myself and I’ll be back at your side the instant you need me, but I, I have to find a way to….”

 

I can’t complete the sentence. Penny sighs and unfolds her arms. She opens her mouth and is ready with another argument, but she shakes her head instead and holds my arm with both her hands. “Ok, Simon. Ok.”

 

\------------------

 

Baz slips into my bed late at night. He’s slightly warm so I know he’s hunted. He’s had a lot of alcohol too. He pulls at my hips then holds me tight. I can feel tears on his face where our cheeks touch and taste saltwater and whisky on his lips. I hold him tight and feel him relax a little.

 

“Baz…”

 

“My love…” We fall asleep holding each other, exhausted.


	2. If you ask me

BAZ

I can’t remember getting into bed with Simon, but I remember getting drunk and I remember why I got drunk. Here I am indulging myself again. I sweep a stray curl out of his face as he continues to sleep in my arms. He opens his eyes, and I pull away sparing no hesitation.

“’Morning, Snow.” I pull on my shirt. 

“Baz.” He says it in a husky voice. Hearing him say my name shouldn’t still be such a big deal after so many years of him saying it, whispering it, and yelling it in love and anger and everything in between. I go to wash up in the bathroom. I’m cool and calm now, but I can’t will myself to leave. I should leave, but I move around like I’m really interested in my morning routine. I can’t believe how much of my shit is here. How am I ever going to move it all out and not break down? Penny is planning to move to America with Micah in the fall, and I just assumed I’d move in soon after. I let myself think of this as home.

Simon sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at me as I pretend to move around with some purpose in mind. “Baz, I’m sorry about how I told you about the job yesterday. I didn’t want to hurt you. I love you. I love you so much. …I’ll still always be there for you, wherever I am.” 

“That’s really noble of you, Snow.”

“No, listen to me, Baz.” Simon is hassling his hair and looking away. I can tell he’s been thinking about what to say. “Whatever happens, you have to know I love you.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Baz, don’t you see? If I could do this without leaving you, I would.” Simon catches my hand and pulls me toward him to stop me from moving. “I love you more than I thought it was possible to love someone. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to make sense of who I am. But that doesn’t change the fact that you can count on me. Anything you need or want, just ask, anytime.”

I don’t understand at all. My jaw is set and I refuse to respond. Simon tugs at my hand and I step closer involuntarily. 

“What do you think I’m going to ask you for?” I say between clenched teeth. “I don’t need you to save me from a monster anymore. I don’t need you to defend me. I don’t need a hero. You couldn’t do all that anyway. Remember, you have no magic. So what would I ask for?” 

Simon winces. I’m tired. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to armor up against Simon Snow. I’m standing over him while he’s sitting on the bed, and we’re still holding hands. I close my eyes and my voice drops. “I just need you in my life. I want to be your boyfriend, not some old buddy you owe a favor. That’s what I ask for.”

Simon squeezes my hand and starts to pull me down toward him.

“Simon, if I can ask you for anything, that’s all I want.” I’m crying. Now, I’m kneeling down in front of him, my hands are on his knees and I look up at him with tears flowing. I always knew I’d have to beg him to love me. I don’t even care what it takes now.

“Simon, please. Just stay. With me. We’ll go anywhere you want, try anything. We’re better together than apart. You’ve said that. I want to be next to you and I want you next to me, whatever we’re doing.” 

Simon speaks softly. “Oh, Baz, I’m such an arse. Such a complete arse.” He holds my face in his hands and kisses my cheeks, wiping the tears with his thumb. He kisses my mouth softly. “How could I have had such a stupid idea? I can’t imagine life without you.” He kisses my mouth again. “I’m sorry.” He gives me a long kiss. 

“You’ll stay?” I ask desperately.

“Yes, of course. Yes.”

Simon pulls me up from the floor, and I rush to hold him. We kiss long and tender kisses, laying next to each other on the bed and pressing the entire length of our bodies against each other and entwining our legs. I realize Simon is crying too, and I wipe his tears with kisses. 

“Baz, I’m so sorry.”

We kiss and touch for a long time, and slowly undress. I kiss him down his back, from his neck to the soft spot deep between his legs and then I flick my tongue back and forth against that spot until he groans. Simon straddles me and pushes me into him, then squeezes his thighs so hard I arch my back and throw back my head. I get agonizingly close to coming but gently push Simon away – I want this to last. He does the same. We make love like we want to tell and take from each other a deep, buried secret. We’re sweating and trembling, and finally come together, crying and moaning and calling each others’ names again and again.

I wake up a few hours later. It must be noon already. I’m thirsty, and I know there’s some blood in the refrigerator. I went hunting last night after we fought, but usually I just drink blood from the butcher’s. I look at Simon, his face is against the pillow and I see the scar on his bare back where his wings used to be. The bumpy thick skin of the scar makes me feel unsettled. 

I dress quietly, glancing around the room trying to make it feel like home again. A sheet of paper on Simon’s desk catches my eye. It’s a list titled, “Things not to think about in India (because I’ll miss them too much)”. Simon loves his lists of things to not think about. This one is a giant list. Simon has writing in both the margins, here with pencil, there with blue ink, and more with black ink. My name is all over it. I know I’m silly for it, but I smile seeing my name in his handwriting again and again.

His list starts with: ‘1. Baz’. Just my name. But then he has:

2\. Scones  
3\. The way Baz smells  
4\. Baz calling me Simon  
5\. Baz calling me Snow  
6\. Penny. Of course. But, she’ll be in America anyway and we’d Skype everyday  
7\. Listening to Baz play violin  
8\. Listening to Baz and Penny debate magickal politics  
9\. Knowing everything Baz is doing and hearing about his day every day

It goes on like that. He stopped numbering after 35, but he’s got two columns and notes everywhere. I’m mentioned in almost every line. I feel a sort of relief. I was afraid that what happened this morning was just Simon being Simon, staying with me because I asked him to after he gave his word to do what I asked. 

I flip the sheet over and my heart drops. It’s another list. This one is titled “Things to look forward to in India”. It’s just one pen color and the list only gets to number 7. 

1\. The food, I think. I hope. I like Indian curry in London, so I should like Indian food in India, right?  
2\. Working with children who are like me. Maybe I can be useful  
3\. Figuring out what I’m made of  
4\. Fixing my own mistakes. Proving to myself that I can, even if no one else cares  
5\. Finding what more there is to me than magic   
6\. Being the strong one for someone else or at least for myself  
7\. Getting past just surviving

I put the sheet down and feel a dull headache coming on. I need to feed. 

 

SIMON  
When I wake up, I hear Baz in the kitchen. I’m still feeling warm and tingly from making love to Baz. I stretch and take a deep breath. I’ll stop thinking about India. There’s no point now. We’ll have to make new plans together. But I have to tell him first. Tell him the other reason I was going to India. There are still questions I have to answer about myself.

Baz walks in and I smile at him. I’ll tell him now before I chicken out again. He doesn’t smile back but sits across from me on the bed. He asks, “What would you do if I hadn’t asked you to stay with me?”

“What?”

“What would you do, what would your decision be if I had not asked you to stay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand what you’re asking me,” I say, shrugging.

“You’re staying with me because I asked you to.”

“Well, yeah.”

Baz shakes his head and smirks. “I’m never going to be enough for you, am I, Snow?”

“What do you mean? I said I’m staying. What are you going on about?”

“I mean, this is not good enough for you,” Baz shouts. “I mean, you’re looking for something more or just something else.”

“I don’t understand, Baz. Didn’t we just decide this? I’m staying. I’m here.”

“No,” Baz says, lowering his voice. “No. I take it back. I’m not asking you to stay. You can if you’d like, but I’m not asking.”

“What are you talking about?!” 

“I’m not asking you to stay. I’m not asking for anything.”

Baz is picking up his things, things that he never takes with him, like his cologne and comb. I just sit on the bed watching him; my mouth is open in the middle of a question that’s just not forming. 

Baz turns to look at me one more time at the door, “Let me know what you decide, Simon.”


	3. Take off...and land

PENNY

I hate goodbyes, but it doesn’t seem right not to see Simon off. We’re on the sidewalk, waiting for the taxi we called. A bunch of people showed up, of course – some of Simon’s university friends, Dev, Niall, Fiona and even my mom. In the last year or so, Simon has made it a point to invite Dev, Niall and Fiona to spend time with him and Baz. That means me too, I suppose, though I really don’t have the mental space to accommodate all these people. I’m glad, all the same, those three got over their initial suspicions of Simon. Dev is protective of Baz, almost like me with Simon. 

Simon is standing next to a couple of suitcases. He promises to call when he lands and email often. Mum and I are rattling off advice.

“Thank Merlin I got my wings and tail removed,” Simon says, off-handedly. “Otherwise, I never would have been able to do something like this.”

Baz looks up at that. He’s been standing to the side, sulking and refusing to look in our direction. Does he wish Simon was still stuck with those wings and the tail? At this point, I’m sure Baz is fighting the urge to just lock Simon in a room and never let him go. I’m feeling something like that too. 

Yesterday evening, Baz came over for the first time since Simon broke the news to us. All month, Baz wouldn’t return Simon’s texts or calls (or mine for that matter). When Baz showed up, Simon was relieved; he was worried he’d never see Baz again. Baz said very little, drank some tea and then announced he had to leave, but instead he followed Simon to his room. Baz stood in the doorway for a few minutes and I saw him hang his head. Simon put his arms around Baz and they kissed. I looked away until I heard the door close. They didn’t come out of the room until this morning. 

The taxi pulls up. Simon loads his bags. I can tell he’s trying to think of something to say other than goodbye. “Well, I guess I’ll see you.” Everyone says a cheerful goodbye. 

I rush to hug him. “I love you, Simon.” 

“I love you too, Penny.”

Simon rubs his palms along his jeans. “Baz…”

Tears fall down Baz’s cheeks, and he won’t look at anyone. Simon tears up too. I see Dev turning away; I can’t tell if he’s angry or just resigned. He doesn’t like to see Baz upset. 

Simon slowly puts an arm around Baz and kisses him on the cheek. Baz is a wreck and won’t move or talk. “I love you, Baz.”

And then Simon Snow gets in a taxi and drives away.

Dev and I drag Baz back to the flat. He pops his fangs and threatens to bite me if we don’t let him go. But I promised Simon I would look after him, and letting Baz wander off with tears in his eyes is not the way to fulfill that promise. Besides the fangs don’t scare me anymore. I tell him I need Simon’s other best friend to keep me company for the evening, and that’s the truth.

 

SIMON  
I’m a fucking mess. When I first landed in Mumbai three weeks ago, it was a riot of colors and noise and smells and people and animals and every kind of vehicle. I thought I would stick out, but there are too many people, too many things, for anyone to notice me. The heat drums down on my head and I haven’t stopped perspiring since I landed. I try to take the local trains but I can never find space. People overflow and hang from the sides, and little old ladies in saris shove me hard to get into the train before me. So I walk or take a rickshaw, but I have gotten lost every time I try to get to my office. Few of the streets have signs, but it wouldn’t matter because no one uses street names. They use landmarks, as in, “It’s by the bank that closed down last year.” I don’t if I will ever get my bearings. 

But the food! I was right about the food. It’s delicious, and – I’m sure others already knew this – Indian food in India is a lot of different types of food – not just a few curries and samosa. You can have something different every day for weeks, but I tried it all in five days. Food is cheap, especially the street vendors. 

Which is probably where this mess started. A week ago I stopped eating. Just stopped. I wasn’t sick, but it was like my stomach had just clenched up. The people at work worried, assuming Europeans had weak constitutions. I just thought I was tired or the heat was beating the appetite out of me. 

Today, I woke up and vomited at a velocity I didn’t think the human gut was capable of. I also simultaneously had an awful bout of diarrhea. Yes, both hit me at the exact same time. I cleaned up and crawled back to bed. I drank the water in the bottles in the fridge (stocked by the organization I’m working for – MBV), then threw that up too. I have spent the day crawling between the bed and the bathroom. I think I’m going to die and am trying to decide if I should call someone or just give up, when there is a knock at the door. 

I am negotiating with my muscles to get up, when I hear the lock open. It’s someone with a key, then. I’m staying in MBV’s guest flat until I get my own place. A few times a week, staff from satellite offices stay here when they come to Mumbai on work trips, but no one was scheduled to come today. The flat is a mess and it smells too. I realize my visitor is probably a staff person from the office come to check on me.

“Mr. Snow?” A sharp but quiet voice calls out from the doorway. She has that Mumbai accent so the vowels are sweetly drawn out a little. That’s followed quickly by a nasally and not so sweet, “Oh my god.” Which means the stench is as bad as I think.

“Mr. Snow?” 

“In the bedroom. You can call me Simon.” 

It’s Namita. I met her at the office briefly. She’s a lawyer. 

“Simon. We were worried when we didn’t hear from you so I offered to stop by and check on you.” She rounds the doorway to my bedroom. I’ve managed to sit up on the edge. “You look awful. And there’s a smell in here...”

“Well, I’ve been vomiting all day.” 

“Have you taken any medicine?” 

“Medicine?”

Namita rolls her eyes. It almost makes me feel at home. “Yes, medicine. You’re sick. Hence, you might consider taking medicine.”

“No, no I haven’t. I’m not sure where to go for medicine around here.”

“A pharmacy. Mumbai has those. Your neighbors would tell you where to find one. Or you can call the office and ask.”

Namita is shaking her head. “You know what, you’re looking awful. I’ll go to the pharmacy. You should clean up in the meantime. OK?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Um…. Namita? I was thinking maybe I should see a doctor. What if this is malaria or like Ebola or something?”

Namita laughs. “Simon, everyone in India is not just dropping dead of major illnesses, despite what you might read in the news. You have had all your immunization shots? Right. And tell me, every day for lunch – when you were eating lunch – I see you go to the street vendors selling food. Is that where you always eat lunch?”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Actually, it’s where I eat breakfast, lunch and dinner. And sometimes a snack…or two.”

Namita is practically bent over with laughter now. “What? What were you thinking? Do people just eat from street vendors all day in London?” She catches her breath and says, “Sorry. Ok, Simon. We’ll get you to a doctor tomorrow first thing. For now, let’s just make sure you can hold down some water. I’ll be right back.”

So much for me fixing my own mistakes. When Namita gets back, she has the name of a doctor and an appointment time ready for me. She brought back medicine, bread, eggs and tea. She reserved a “tipin” for me for evenings – fresh-cooked meals that are delivered to my door. She looks at me sternly (but she’s clearly still enjoying this) and says I can only eat at street vendors once a week, and that too only after I’m well and if someone who’s from Mumbai says they’ve eaten at that cart and didn’t fall ill. I already know I’m going to break that rule. 

As she’s leaving, she says, “In a month, we’ll be in the field. You’re coming with me and two social workers to a region in the east full of villages that do not have half the amenities Mumbai has. And we’ll be there for a month. Get better. Stop eating junk.” 

I can tell she’s trying to be nice, but she’s shaking her head and her smile is fading.


	4. It's not over

BAZ  
Penny leaves tomorrow for America. There was no choice about me visiting on her last day in London. I hate to admit it but I’ll miss her. Seeing her always makes me think of Simon, which, these days, is both good and bad. But after I get past the intense flashbacks and yearning for Simon, Penny is good company. She’s competitive, blunt and curious about everything. She never gives up on a friend.

Micah has come to help her pack and move, and I shake his hand politely while admonishing Penny about all the packing that clearly still needs to be done. What is really on my mind is the four years of loving Simon in this flat. I last talked to him a month ago for 15 minutes, just small talk where we avoided talking about anything serious or personal. Now, even this space will be cut out of my life.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take over the lease? I could still convince the landlord to rent it to you,” Penny asks.

“No. I told you, I need a place that doesn’t smell like curry and brownies.”

There’s a knock at her door, and Micah answers it.

“Hi. Can I help you?” Micah asks the person at the door, and turns to look quizzically at me and Penny.

“Sir!” the strange visitor says, enthusiastically grabbing and shaking Micah’s hand. “You must be Mr. Tyrranus Pitch.”

“Um…I’m not...”

“And who are you?” I ask moving to Micah’s side. “Mr. Pitch doesn’t live here. We can give him a message.”

A petite man with thin jet-black hair and brown, chapped skin takes a step inside the doorway. It’s Sunday in August, but he’s wearing a three-piece suit made of rough, cheap burgundy cloth.

“I am Manuel Santos,” he nods at me. Then he smiles quickly. “I’m here from Escuela de Miranda. It is the school of magic in Colombia. Like your Watford here.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of the school, but there are almost two hundred schools around the globe.

“I am looking for Simon Snow,” Manuel says. “I was told he is usually with Penelope Bunce and Tyrranus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. This is his flat, right?”

Penny and I look at each other. After the Mage’s death, the Daily Record published multiple, thorough stories with names and photos of Simon and the Mage. Simon had been famous since the Mage had declared him the Chosen One, so the news stories about the Coven hearings and the end of the Humdrum didn’t make him any more famous, instead they were mostly a welcome way to make sure people knew it was all over. But, over the years, Simon has received many visitors: people who were angry with him for the holes in the magickal atmosphere (the holes are shrinking but still around), people who were ardent fans, people who think they can heal Simon and people who think Simon can heal them. Then there are the goblins and other dark creatures who are seeking revenge but usually are disappointed that their adversary is no longer a mighty mage. Penny and I generally don’t like any of these loons getting too close to Simon.

Manuel is trying to take a few more steps into the flat, and looking carefully at every object in the room. “I sent a letter to Mr. Snow, telling him I would be visiting. Perhaps he’s out? Can I return at a different time?”

“Simon didn’t mention you would be visiting,” Penny says. “What did you need from him?”

“Well, I am the resident scholar of dark creatures at Miranda,” Manuel says, still smiling warmly. “I had emailed Mr. Snow that I would be in London and would like to interview him about his experience with the Humdrum.”

“You should get in touch with the Headmistress of Watford for anything on the Humdrum,” Penny says. “I can put you in touch with her assistant.”

Manuel’s smile flattens, his eyes narrow, and he takes out a wand. His voice sounds thicker now, gravelly. “Yes, why don’t you do that? Tell your mother – your mother, right, Penelope Bunce? – that I’m losing my patience. I’m tired of these games. If she doesn’t give me what I’m owed, I will take what I want.”

Penny and I both instantly have our wands out; Micah is looking bewildered. I raise my voice but keep it even, “Mr. Santos, you better leave now or….”

 **“La brisa en tu espalda!”** Manuel says with magic, his eyes suddenly wild and angry. The two windows in the front room shatter in a loud bang as if the glass was struck from outside. The three of us quickly crouch and cover our face from the shards. Manuel is standing stiff and tall, and grumbles above the din of falling glass, “Tell your mother!” And he’s gone.

I shake myself free of pieces of glass and look over at Penny and Micah – they’re also standing up slowly. I don’t see (or smell) blood on them, so I take off after Manuel. I storm down the stairs into the street but he’s long gone. How did he move so fast?

 

PENNY  
Micah can’t believe this is my life. He’s heard the stories but being here for it is something different. I calm him down, rubbing his shoulders and telling him not to worry. Then I turn to my parents.

“I am going to lose my SHIT!”

“For Merlin's sake, Penny, try to listen to reason for once,” my mum says. “We can take care of things here. You and Micah will be safer in America anyway. There’s nothing you can do here. Baz, maybe you should also take a trip, maybe visit your parents.”

“No way. No no no,” I start to pace. “I’m not going anywhere until we figure out who this Manuel Santos is and why he’s looking for Simon. We have to call Simon right away, get him back here where we can keep an eye on him.”

“They’re right, Bunce. Snow shouldn’t come back,” Baz says. He’s scowling in the corner with Niall and Dev. They showed up to say farewell to me. (I’ve really exceeded my limit of friends. It’s been like an avalanche, really.) Niall and Dev walked in and found Micah shaking and checking me everywhere for wounds even though I kept saying I was fine. Dev keeps trying to pat or hold Baz’s shoulder.

My parents and Premal showed up shortly thereafter. (They called the rest of my siblings and told them not to come.) Everyone was coming to say farewell, but there’s no way I am going to leave now. This is ground zero and this is where I need to be until we figure everything out. No one else seems to understand this. They all think I need to board my plane to America like nothing happened. So yeah, I am about to lose my shit if they think they can just shove me onto a plane while Simon is in danger.

“If Santos is looking for Snow in London – or England or Europe – it’s better that Snow is far away.” Baz turns to my mum. “Besides, it sounds like Headmistress Bunce already knows who Manuel Santos is.”

I stop pacing and stare at my mom. “He’s right, Mum. Manuel was speaking like you would know exactly what he meant. Who is he? What do you owe him?”

Mum looks at my dad, runs a hand through her frizzy hair and sighs loudly. “I do know him, Penny. I don’t owe him anything. He used to be part of the council that oversees Escuela de Miranda in Colombia – like our Coven does for Watford. He went rogue and the council kicked him out. He says he had a …a deal with the Mage, and that he’s due a sort of payment.”

“Of course, the Mage,” Baz says.

“Don’t sneer at my mum, Baz,” I say. “So the Mage was in debt to this guy and he threatens us? What exactly did the Mage owe him?”

“It’s complicated,” mum says. “The Mage didn’t get as powerful as he was in a vacuum, and he owed some favors. Really big favors to very serious people who don’t care if the Mage is gone – someone has to pay.”

“Simon!? They think Simon has to pay? What could he even pay them? All he has is Leprechaun gold and magicians won’t accept that.”

“It’s not a monetary payment, exactly. And they don’t care if they get what they want from Simon or Watford or the Coven, as long as they get it.” Mum fidgets, and I’ve never seen her fidget. “The Mage had promised to deliver powerful magickal information.”

“What kind of information?” Baz asks.

“I can’t really discuss this further with you. It would put more people in danger.”

“We’re already in danger!” Baz says. “This is ridiculous. You know that if anyone comes looking for Snow, they’re bound to run into me or Penelope. Even now…”

“It’s just the rules of who has access to classified information,” she says. “You should appreciate this, Baz. After the Mage, those rules were made through committees and hearings, not just at my discretion. It’s the best way we know to make sure we don’t compromise investigations or let a megalomaniac run roughshod at Watford again.”

“But why now?” I ask, gesturing in the air and looking around the room. “Why come after Simon four years after the Mage died?”

Dev clears his throat and speaks from the corner of the room. “Penny, we’re not going to be able to fix this right now. We can help you finish packing as much as possible, and then you and Micah can rest for your flight.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard tonight,” Micah says from the couch. I’m not ready to stop – I’ve got that old adrenaline rush feeling – but Micah stands and gives me a brief hug and looks at me with fear in his eyes still. My shoulders slump and I look away. I know I’ll follow him to the airport tomorrow.

“What about Snow?” Baz asks.

“I already introduced the head of the Mumbai School of Magic to Simon over email when he was planning the move. I’ll call them both and tell them to be vigilant. And I’m sure when you two talk to him next, you’ll do the same,” Mum says to me and Baz.


	5. Can I do this on my own?

SIMON  
The man in front of me is smiling warmly but I already know this guy is rotten. It doesn’t take me long to spot them now. He gestures and nods as he explains raising children who don’t have parents to me (because I wouldn’t know). We’re sitting in a bare office of plastic chairs, an old metal desk and a filing cabinet. The fan is turning fast, but there is no air conditioning. This man – Thomas something – is small and has wispy jet-black hair. He talks a little in broken English, and my colleague Rajan translates when he switches to Hindi. 

“You see, these children, it’s very sad. They don’t have parents and they never get to see what family is,” he says. I nod, pretending I don’t know this is just the way everyone starts.

“So, you see, when they come to me, it is my job to make sure they get the discipline” – he uses the English for that word, looks at me meaningfully and jabs the air emphatically – “the discipline – that they need. You don’t want to hurt them, but they must know their place. Right? Right? You see, it is very difficult. You know they are not going to have good lives. So, what can you do? They must have discipline. And we don’t want to hurt them, but it’s their fault they never learn. Who is at fault if a punishment has to be given? The punisher? No, of course not.”

He’s looking keenly at me now but I’m just looking for an exit to the conversation. I’ve done a dozen of these now. We’ve been touring a few small towns and villages to the north of Mumbai for a month now, and my job with Rajan has been to interview and survey the managers of the local children’s homes – especially ones we don’t work with in any formal capacity yet. Eventually, I have to develop a database to track all this information. When Rajan and I get to the question of discipline methods, the conversation almost always gets dark.

This manager was eager to talk. They all are. They know if we accept them as a member of our organization, they could access more funding. Fat chance. Rajan and I are not kind in our reports.

The first month at the MBV, I read research and policy on foster homes. Then I spent almost a month sick. After the vomiting and diarrhea, I broke out in a rash so severe I could barely fall asleep, then I had a three-day fever, and then I went back to vomiting. None of it was serious, and all of it amused Namita endlessly. (“You’ll leave here with a toughened stomach, at least, Simon,” she’d tease.) Once I got better with what I ate and drank, I finally stopped being sick. I’m glad to be healthy again, but I would choose the vomiting over these interviews with arseholes any day. 

Of course, many of the foster homes we met with are run by caring and compassionate people, but some were run by people like this guy. I could see bruises on the malnourished kids right away. The first few times I saw that, I wanted to believe it was for lack of funds or staff. But I learned quickly that there was a sort of pride and stubbornness in it. Every day now, I relive my time in children’s homes. I remember some – not all, but definitely some – staff at the homes in England taking a sort of pleasure in beating down the kids, if not physically, then emotionally.

Sometimes I try to convince these managers to try a different approach with the kids, and Rajan would jump in with me in Hindi trying to argue for more compassion. But both of us are wearing out, and more often now, we just try to get through the survey as quickly as possible.

We did two of these interviews today in villages only a few kilometers apart, connected by lumpy dirt roads. Rajan drives me on his moped back to our satellite office, which is in a small town that’s central to this set of villages. We’re covered in dust and sweat and don’t want to talk about the children we saw today.

“Tell me, Simon. What have you learned this month?” Namita is talking over dinner. She’s ten years older than me, but she’s petite and boisterous so it’s easy to forget she’s our supervisor here. She takes her role as manager seriously, though. The team – me, Rajan and Namita from Mumbai and the three permanent staff in this town – are sitting together at the office to have dinner together since we’ve all been working late. She was right when she said there would be no comforts here – we’ve been sleeping for a month on thin cots we pull out at night in the office, which has no air conditioning. 

It’s not all bad. The food is still fantastic. And Namita and Rajan have become my friends. In Mumbai, we even went out to a pub a couple of times. Here, sometimes we’ll hang out with the staff over tea on Sundays. Plus, the rides out to the villages are beautiful even if they’re bumpy. I wish I could just tour the small farms and bustling village markets. But none of it makes up for what I see in the children’s homes. I can’t stop thinking about those kids. It brings back the hopeless rage I would feel at children’s homes – the slow-burning but unstoppable anger that used to eventually lead me to go off when I had magic.

I chew silently. I don’t want to answer Namita’s question, but I can’t just sulk here. I try to think of something professional to say, but keep staring at my food.

“I don’t understand why we leave the kids there,” I finally spit out and look at Namita with some of the anger I’m feeling. I don’t feel very professional anymore. “What’s the point? Why are we even here?” Everyone goes quiet and stops eating. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental, but I’m so tired tonight.

“What would you have us do?” Namita asks.

“I don’t know. Something, anything,” I say. I can feel my throat catching a bit. “Even if we don’t help all of them, we should start with the children we find, put them in decent homes and not move on to the next kid until we get it right. And we should throw some of those fucking managers in prison.” Oh no, did I just say ‘fuck’ in the middle of the office?

“It’s not so easy. I’ve been working for five years on a lawsuit against a guy who was leasing kids as young as seven out from the orphanage to construction companies,” Namita says. “Imagine, if I can’t get that bastard, how am I supposed to go after a guy who just punches the kids a few times.”

I grind my teeth and look away. We finish eating in silence and go to sleep early. 

 

I wake up early enough to see mist hanging in the air the next morning, and it reminds me of London. I call Baz. I want to tell him so much, but I don’t feel like I have a right to so I stick with small talk again.

“How’ve you been, Baz?” 

“I’ve been good, Snow.”

“Are you still in Oxford with your parents?” I know he went there after Manuel’s attack on our flat. 

“No. I came back after a week. I started a new job at an investment bank. Besides, vampires hide from the sun, not guys in bad suits with tempers.”

Baz continues after an awkward silence. “Did you go see the headmaster there? What’s his name?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him. Navin Choksy. He’s a good guy. Everything is fine, as far as that stuff goes. No one has shown up here looking for me. I’m so sorry that guy attacked you,” I say. 

Actually, I’ve been meeting or calling Navin at least once a week since I arrived in Mumbai, long before Baz and Penny ever met Manuel Santos. I don’t want them to know about those meetings, though. 

“Not your fault, Snow. You always did attract all sorts,” Baz says. Then he clears his throat. “Glad you’re in touch with the local school of magic. So, what are you doing now?”

“I’m…Well, I’ve actually been working in the villages outside Mumbai for the past month.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, we’ve been surveying the local children’s homes. I don’t know….” I trail off. I take a breath and close my eyes. “I miss you, Baz. I miss you so much.”

I open my eyes. I’m standing at the open window of the office, which is on the fourth floor, also the top floor. There aren’t many four-floor buildings in the small town. I can see a lot from here. It’s still very early. Farmers are rolling in with their carts of vegetables to set up in the open-air market, there are small animals roaming the badly paved streets, and women are starting their day’s work in and outside their homes. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say into the phone. “Baz, I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this. Yesterday, I saw a kid in this children’s home with a welt right on top of her eye. They said she was 10 years old, but she looked like she was five. She was so small. So small. That’s not even the worst thing I’ve seen. I just can’t stop thinking about how small she was. And I just interviewed the manager like it was just business as usual. Then we moved on to the next shithole.

“You should meet the people here, Baz. The people I work with I mean – the social workers, the activists – they’re amazing. Some of them have been fighting to help these kids for decades. They’ve seen everything. And they just get up every day and keep trying to make things better for these kids. 

“I – I don’t think I can do it, Baz. I’m no good at this. I can’t…”

The line has gone quiet. I feel ashamed, and I wish I hadn’t called Baz like this. 

“Snow. …Simon. …Simon,” Baz says. “You can do this, Simon. You’re one of the strongest people I know. I believe in you. There’s nothing you can’t do, Simon. I know you.”


	6. Turns out I was wrong

We get back to Mumbai a couple of days later. My last days in the satellite office, I went out of my way to be friendly with the staff, who were also inexplicably friendly. I thought we were all try to compensate for my outburst. Turns out I was wrong.

Namita took me out for a drink our first night back in Mumbai. She said our colleagues went quiet after my outburst not because they were offended, but because all of them at some point felt the same, still feel it some days. She said never to hold back when I’m feeling that way. (She also said cursing is perfectly acceptable in our line of work. Then she taught me some curse words in Hindi.) If anything, it made them trust me, made me seem less like an outsider.

My embarrassment at my profane outburst has turned to relief. I don’t feel like I have to hide who I am. I move around Mumbai easily now. I like exploring the chaotic city and have started to make friends outside the office. I also love going back out to the villages, to be in the thick of our work.

I’m also spending more time when I can with Navin at the Mumbai School of Magic. I like being there, at a school for magic, with Navin. There are kids (when did 17-year-olds start looking like children to me?) in the halls fooling around and practicing spells in English, Hindi, Marathi, Urdu and a bunch of languages I like the sound of even if I don’t understand them. Unlike the Mage, Navin is a smiley round-faced man who makes bad puns and adores his faculty and staff.

He set up a conference room at the school for our investigation. In India, that includes the two of us plus the school’s instructor in magickal biology, the chair of the local magickal council and a magickal anthropologist from Ghana. Sometimes people – especially Headmistress Bunce – from other cities and countries are on the phone with us. This is now headquarters for this investigation because I’m here. We started this team based at Watford with a few others a couple of years ago – long before I moved to Mumbai. The investigation has grown to more than a dozen people around the world.

One of these things is not like the other, I always think to myself while I’m sitting at the table with these powerful and smart men and women. The only reason I’m here is because the Mage was my father.

It still takes the breath out of my lungs when I stop to think about that. The Mage was my father. I killed him. He sent me to foster homes. He made me into…something powerful and grotesque. I try so hard not to think about it. I decided not to tell Baz and Penny when I first found out. It feels like a problem to fix, a fight I have to resolve. But I wasn’t strong enough. I knew I had to get away from Baz and Penny and London and everything comfortable to be strong again.

Mitali asked me to join the investigation because I …well, I had a unique relationship with the Mage, you know, being his son. I like being around the investigation team when they start to probe into a particular question, and I sometimes let myself pretend Baz and Penny are there, fighting over who gets to write on a chalkboard. I’m glad they’re not here, though. I may not understand everything we’re researching, but I know this is fast becoming more dangerous than any of us had expected.

“Good news, folks,” Navin says as soon as we’re settled for the meeting. The usual group is there, and on the phone are Headmistress Bunce, our liaison in Colombia and a few others. “Thanks to Mitali and our partners in Colombia, we have been able to capture Manuel Santos. Carolina Cruz is on the phone from Bogota. Carolina and Mitali, do you two want to fill the group in?”

They discuss how they tracked down Santos. The arsehole had acquired weapons for the Mage’s Men. Santos told the headmistress that in lieu of payment for the weapons, the Mage was supposed to give Manual the powerful magickal spells that were used to create me, but the Mage never delivered. Soon after Santos threatened Penny and Baz, Headmistress Bunce lured Santos by saying she’d give him the spells for an exorbitant fee (aka bribe), and then captured him. The Bogota team had him imprisoned. We finish discussing Santos, and Navin turns to me.

“Simon, there is a question we cannot answer,” he says, his voice growing quiet. “Look at the photos of the people the Mage had been talking to before his death.”

I look up at the wall where we’ve taped up the photos of every person we now have confirmed the Mage had dealings with. Every person we know of, at least. There are 14 photos with names, titles and a brief summary of what we’ve been able to understand from the Mage’s journals and interviews with key persons. They include people from all over the world – Japan, Indonesia, Kenya, Australia, Argentina, Mexico, all over. Our investigation team includes officials from each of those countries. Many of my father’s associates were on magickal councils, some were heads of schools, but there are also powerful businessmen and even a couple of members of parliaments. The Mage traded on dark spells. He acquired money, weapons, and classified information from these associates by promising dark spells – spells to enslave large groups of people or to hypnotize whole parliaments or to incite riots. In some cases he delivered, but, as far as we’ve been able to tell he hadn’t delivered the ultimate dark spell – the spells he used to create me, a magician able to manipulate and draw on magickal force unlike anyone else. Apparently, that was the spell everyone was really eager to access – that was the spell no one else had ever been able to crack. Since his death, most of the Mage’s associates had been driven underground because their countries got wise after we shared what we learned – making those men that much more angry and determined, it seems.

Navin prods me. “Do you notice something about all those people?”

Everyone is looking at me to give an answer. I clear my throat. I’ve read everything I can about these people. I’ve read everything the Mage put into his journals, sometimes with tears in my eyes, sometimes with so much anger I wanted to shred the pages. I’ve got to concentrate. I’ve got to help.

“I – I’m sorry. I don’t see it,” I say, letting out my breath and shaking my head a little.

“Don’t sigh, man!” Navin chuckles. “Yeah? Sigh, man? Si-mon. Get it? Haha!”

I laugh a little. It’s an awful joke that he’s cracked a few times before, but Navin enjoys it so much I can’t help but join in. The rest of the team also relaxes a little.

“It’s not an exam. We just realized it ourselves and we’ve been studying this long before you got here, Simon. You will help us figure this out, don’t worry.”

Mary Kojo (the Ghanaian anthropologist) puts a hand on my arm and squeezes. “Simon, you might notice that all the people the Mage had made arrangements with are men.”

I look at the photos, though I don’t really need to look at them to know she’s right. It doesn’t seem like anything but coincidence, and a pretty small coincidence at that.

Penny’s mum’s crisp voice crackles out from the speakerphone. “It may not be significant, Simon. It’s not hard to find power-hungry women to conspire with in the world, but it might not have occurred to the Mage to work with women. That’s not unusual, but you do have to wonder why he didn’t even reach out to one woman given his…interest in reproduction. What we did start to wonder about is the one woman the Mage does write about extensively -- and then stops writing about suddenly when you were.... The woman, Simon, who….”

Her voice trails off. Navin looks at me kindly, too kindly. I know where this is going now, and I wish they’d stop being so nice about it.

“Simon, your…that particular woman might be the key to this,” Navin says, still smiling but speaking quietly. “We don’t know much at all about what happened after your... About why…ahem – where...”

“Yeah, I know. I know,” I cut off Navin’s stammering. “We have to find my mum.”

 

BAZ  
It’s already rather cold in Oxford when I go for another visit in November. Mordelia and the other three kids insist on taking me to an ice cream shop anyway. Mordelia has countless stories of Watford. I fuss at her to not eat with her mouth open and sit up straight. She started at Watford this year, and it’s going to be up to me to teach her some grace. The twins and toddler are still shy around me. I do a little magic to entertain them.

After dinner that night, Daphne and father are asking about my new job at the investment bank and London. Mordelia sits next to me, but the other children are dressing for bed.

Daphne asks, “Have you found the furniture you had wanted, Basilton?” Daphne and the younger children visited me a few weeks ago to help me set up my new flat (after I moved out of Fiona’s).

“Yes, thank you,” I say.

Father says, “Right. And how is your, um, social life, Basilton?” Father never asks about my social life, and he never says ‘um’.

“It’s fine, sir. I see Dev and Niall and Fiona quite often,” I’m trying to mirror my father’s cool demeanor, but I’m searching for the right answer. “And, of course, I attend many concerts and events in London.”

“Good. Good. Glad to hear it, son. Are you still spending time with the daughter of the Watford Headmistress?”

“Penelope Bunce? She moved to America. I hear from her from time to time, though.” I hear from her constantly. Text, Skype, email, Facebook – she is not one to fade into nostalgia.

“Right. How about your other …friend? Simon Snow?” Father has never asked about Simon since it became clear that he was no longer the enemy. For four years, we had a polite détente about Simon. I brought him with me on visits (mostly at Daphne’s insistence) and didn’t try to hide anything, but we never spoke openly about the relationship either.

“He moved away, Father,” I say. Daphne must have told him. It’s been five months and I still feel a dull ache as I say this. “I hear from him, but rarely.”

“Well, that’s what happens with young men at your age, Basilton. You go where opportunity takes you,” he says as if Simon’s just another friend I played football with. “What line of business is Simon in anyway these days?”

“He’s working with foster homes in India,” I say.

“Children’s homes? In India? Well, that’s a strange occupation. There can’t be much money in that,” he says. I can’t make out if that’s a joke or if my father really is assessing the ‘industry’ of children’s homes. “I suppose, though, there are the circumstances of his birth…(ahem) And you still keep in touch, though?”

“Just occasionally. We’re not so…close anymore,” I say. “Why do you ask, Father?”

“A father must take interest in his son’s affairs, of course,” he says in a lighter voice and he pats my knee awkwardly. He relaxes into the couch again. “I’m always interested in how you’re doing, Basilton.”

Perhaps aging has softened him. The inquiry about my personal life is just the latest change in Father. He called in October about my Christmas holiday plans. He has never, not even when I was young at Watford, called to inquire about a visit. I was unprepared to answer, but I made an excuse. I said work would be too busy to travel for Christmas. It’s not entirely true, but Simon is planning to visit for Christmas. He’ll be at the Bunces’ in London, and I don’t know what his plans are but I want to be around (for what, I don’t know). So when Father called, I said I would visit in November instead. Mordelia decided to visit too. Maybe I’ve underestimated how much my father has tried to be in my life.

The other children run in, having changed into pyjamas as instructed, and beg me to play a board game with them. Daphne’s face lights up, and Mordelia argues with them about which game to play. There’s another first – playing games at my family’s house.


	7. Unplanned, unexpected

SIMON

Namita and I are walking up the stairs of an old building in a corner of Mumbai I’ve never seen before. There’s dust on the railings and cobwebs shine bright white against the fluorescent light. I notice the building is mostly empty, with wooden slats nailed across some doors.

I follow Namita into a room. I don’t have any work to do here; Namita just told me to come along for an errand she had after work. The large single room is bare except for a couple of desks, two old computers, plastic chairs, and a couple of shelves packed with books and stacked with papers. Paint is chipping off these walls too, but I see Hindi words painted on the walls.

A very thin, dark and tall man with a long gaunt face gives Namita a big smile. “It is so good to see you!”

“Oh, really? Is that because of me or because I’m bringing a check for you?” Namita teases him with an equally big smile.

He laughs shyly and says something in Hindi, and she responds in Hindi as she gives him a check with a small flourish. I’m feeling a little left out, but Namita finally introduces me to him plus two other young men.

“They have been working to start a kind of club,” Namita says to me. “They all – we all – grew up in children’s homes. They have collected a small library and they get Internet service here that members can use. On Saturdays, members come together to talk and hang out. Sometimes, we do volunteer projects – just whatever we feel like doing together. The Mumbai Balak Vikas has agreed to give some seed funding for this.” Namita waves her arm around at the room and sparse furniture, then points to the check she just handed over. She says something in Hindi, pointing at me and nodding her head emphatically. I don’t know for sure, but I think she just told them I grew up in children’s homes too.

“See what we write here,” one of the men says, pointing to the Hindi words on the wall. “It means ‘Family is in heart, not just in blood.’”

I feel a buzz in my chest as I marvel at what they’re doing here. I’ve tried hard to forget where I come from. The years-long investigation into the Mage – my father – has only made me want to run further from my past. Mostly, I came to India to work with children because I was feeling lost, but here were these people – probably with similar or worse experiences than mine – who weren’t trying to cover over who they were or feel weird or lost about it. They were coming together to embrace and love each other.

The other people – there are about four others here – talk over each other to tell me more. I feel strangely at home even though I’m completely foreign here – I get it and they get me. Their English is terrible, but their words are the sweetest things I’ve ever heard.

 

Namita and I are at a restaurant back in the city, and I’m gushing about the club and the people we just met. The world is feeling just a little bigger with possibilities tonight. Maybe I don’t need to hate my past.

“Namita, I didn’t know …about your childhood. I was also…I mean, we were,” I say. “Damn. I’m no good with language.”

“Yes, to all those questions. Were they questions? I grew up in children’s homes. And I know you did too. And your English is awful,” Namita says, giggling a little at the end.

I smile, grateful that she completed my sentences. Suddenly, though, I realize something she says doesn’t add up. I scrunch my eyebrows at her. “I thought you all hired me because I had good English skills.”

“Simon, have you met anyone at the office with worse language skills than you?” Namita is still smiling at me, teasing me again. She turns serious then. “Sweta started this organization 30 years ago because she herself grew up in a few nasty institutions. She wanted to advocate for kids like herself. Not all of our colleagues grew up without parents, but she – we all – think it’s important that people who know what it means to live in a children’s home are involved in fixing how we care for those children.”

Then we talk for a long time about what this works means to each of us.

And it feels like Namita is giving me a key to some lock. Like I could climb a mountain. Like maybe even if I’m not the Chosen One, I could really do something big. I look at Namita – wavy black hair framing a long face with a pointed chin – her head barely reaches my shoulder. I wonder at how such a small person could take on the biggest baddest villains. I take Namita’s hands in my own. She gives me a gentle look, no longer teasing.

After holding my hands quietly for a long moment, she says, “Wanna come watch a Charlie Chaplin movie with me?” I laugh, a little grateful that Namita changed the subject.

 

We’re watching Charlie Chaplin sitting on the floor in front of the TV, leaning against Namita’s sofa. We’re laughing at the screen together. I’m holding her hand again. I wasn’t expecting this. I feel a tightening in my chest. I think of Baz. I’m still in love with Baz, and I owe him everything. But I want to be closer to Namita. I want to keep opening the doors she’s shown me. I want to connect with someone to whom I don’t have to explain my childhood. She smells so good like sandalwood and cinnamon, her small hand is rough and warm in mine. I’m losing track of the story on the screen, just thinking about her hand. She turns to face me in the dark, the white light from the TV glowing across her face and twinkling in her eye.

She kisses me. I kiss her back.

 

BAZ  
There is holly wrapped around streetlamps, lights strung across all the shops, and bubbly Christmas songs playing in every shop. It’s enough to turn my stomach. Usually. This time, the nauseating Christmas cheer has me giddy. I have been pretending it’s not because Simon is going to be here in a few days. I am pretending that I made a date to get a drink with Bunce only because I wanted to see her while she’s visiting.

It’s been six months, the longest I’ve gone without seeing Simon since I was 11 years old.

 

PENNY  
There is too much to pack and not enough suitcase. Micah is playing video games – why is he playing video games!!? I hate packing and I hate stuff. When I traveled between Watford and home in London, I could pack in under an hour. It sounds cliché, but in America I seem to have gotten so much more stuff. I can’t even remember how I accumulated it all.

There are my toiletries, clothes for various occasions and temperatures, shoes, more shoes, electronic devices, more toiletries and gifts.

“Micah! Where’s Baz’s gift?”

Micah mumbles. He always mumbles now. Occasional visits, texts and Skyping (where I did most of the talking) did not prepare me for Micah’s preferred communication method when he’s relaxed and unworried. Anything above a long grunt is too much effort for Micah, reserved only for special occasions, and I am no longer a special occasion.

I find Baz’s gift under a pile of clothes. I have more than 24 hours still until the flight, but I’m so excited the frenzied packing is a good channel for my energy.

 

SIMON  
I kiss Namita one more time, holding her close, before letting her go. She gives me her keys to lock up her flat after I leave. She has a flight to catch soon.

“I’m sorry I won’t be back before you leave for London,” Namita says. “Enjoy Christmas, sweetheart. I want you well-rested when I see you again.”

She gives me a mischievous grin and I say good-bye feeling unusually shy. Later, after a shower, I take my overnight bag, close Namita’s flat and head to the School of Magic.

Navin has a portfolio ready for me, and we review it together in detail.

“These are all things you know already, Simon,” Navin says. “These are all the things we’ve been able to determine about Lucy, your mother, up until she disappeared shortly after your birth.”

After dozens of meetings, the team is finally comfortable saying things like “your mother” and “your birth”. It makes it easier for me to focus on my tasks. I will be going to Watford for several days, with Headmistress Bunce and a member of the Coven who is chair of the Committee on Magickal Public Safety. There will be others. We’re to scour the campus for traces of my mother. Navin’s instructor in magickal biology has been testing me (my body) for two years now – she first met me in London – and she thinks I still have a link to my mother given the extreme magic used during her pregnancy and my birth, according to the Mage’s journals. I just need to find something of my mother’s to connect to.

I sigh heavily and then hold my breath. Please, I think, don’t make a joke, Navin.

“Simon, you have no obligation to do this. But, think of it as a way to learn more about your past,” Navin says, looking gently at me. “There’s a small chance that whatever and wherever your mother is now could be important to our investigation – but there is a much bigger chance that what you find will be absolutely important to you. This is a personal journey for you, not for anyone else.”

I look at the portfolio and it feels very heavy on my lap. There are too many things I can’t control and choices I don’t want to make. I want a break. Suddenly, I do not want to think about Watford or my birth or about my parents or Namita or children’s homes or Baz or the international ring of powerful men the Mage, my father, had been organizing before his death. I go back to my own place to pack, go to the airport and as soon as I’m in the plane, I put on headphones and shut my eyes.

 

BAZ  
Dev and Niall have insisted on coming with me to meet Bunce tonight, a week before Christmas Eve. It sounds like Bunce texted them herself with the idea (probably so she wouldn’t have to meet them separately). It’s still odd for me to think of all these people as friends now, and I know it’s making Bunce a little nuts too.

Simon should have flown in already. It’s been a while since we’ve talked, but he still emails. I broke down yesterday and texted Bunce that she should bring Simon tonight. She may have thought of it already, but suddenly I was worried that she might have instead thought it best to keep him away and I almost panicked. I’m being ridiculous.

Until I see him, and then I’m glad for whatever it took to get him here. He is golden, toasted. His hair is longer, his curls looser. He looks at me and a smile spreads across his face; I feel like I could stand there watching his smile stretch all day. We hug, awkwardly, briefly, because we’re all hugging each other.

We all talk about the past six months. Simon’s insane eating habits in India. Bunce’s infatuation with American department stores. Dev, who usually keeps to himself, jumps in with a story about a deadline he missed at his job and how he hid in the mail room to avoid his boss. Niall is laughing hard, and all his stories take place in pubs. I tell them about a promotion I’m up for at the bank.

“I know… I mean, wow, Baz!” Simon says. “A promotion, already! That is awesome. I knew you’d be moving up quickly.”

I smile and look down at the table. Crowley, why am I feeling so shy?

“Just like your mum, right Baz?” Bunce says. Dev grins and bumps my arm.

We get up and stretch and file out. It is nearly closing time. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want Simon to leave, and I’m thinking of after-hours places we can go. Maybe I should play it cool instead and let Simon come to me. He’s here for another two weeks, right?

“Baz, can we talk for a minute?” Simon says, walking behind me.

“Yeah.” We walk to a corner of the pub. I am definitely going to play this cool. But not too cool – I want to see him again. “What’s up?”

“Listen, I thought I should let you know….I mean, I don’t even know if you’d care to know,” Simon says. He swallows hard and starts again. “I’m seeing someone. In India.”

_Oh. ….Oh, oh, oh, oh._

“I just didn’t want you to find out some other way,” Simon keeps talking. He clears his throat. “Her name is Namita. I mean, it’s not serious, but she’s nice…”

_Fuck….fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s seeing another woman._

“Cool. I got it,” I say, cutting him off before he starts what I know will be an incoherent ramble. I wish he’d stop looking up at me with those eyes. “Thanks for letting me know.”

We leave the pub. I can’t get home fast enough. Dev wants to see me home; I hate that he can tell when I’m upset. I hold it together all the way home, and then lose it, collapsing into Dev’s shoulder outside the door to my building.

How did I lose Simon Snow?


	8. How do I know when I've found her?

SIMON  
Watford feels ominous, or maybe that’s just me. Looking for signs of a mother you never met to figure out how she fits into your lunatic father’s diabolical scheming probably wouldn’t feel cheerful anywhere. 

Penny is here with me. The investigation team includes a lot of specialists, and Headmistress Bunce hopes the more brains we have the quicker this gets done. She and I went back and forth about including Penelope. 

A year and a half ago – a year before I left London – the headmistress and I met at her home, and she told me about the Mage’s journals. She had gathered a small team with the Coven’s help in England to analyze the Mage’s records soon after she took the position at Watford. They had discovered the Mage’s journals. It had become clear that I was the Mage’s son. I remember that I had grown quiet and still as Penelope’s mum told me about their findings.

I was conceived and born, she said, under very powerful and very dark spells. The Mage had figured out how to create a powerful magician, and he went to great lengths (her words) to figure out how to control me – for one, he sent me to a children’s home to make sure I would not get too comfortable or secure with parents. Clever man, my father.

When she first told me, I just stopped talking. For a whole day, I stayed at the Bunces’ home, not saying a word. There were too many questions and there was no way I would ever get a good answer. Headmistress Bunce invited me over when she knew all her kids would be out. She wanted me to have privacy. She brought over the Mage’s original journals, saying I could look at them when I wanted. The next day, the first thing I said is that I didn’t want to tell Baz and Penny, not yet. Both of them anxiously fussed over me after I lost my magic. I had just, finally, gotten them to stop treating me like a porcelain doll, and I didn’t want to go back to that. 

“That’s up to you, Simon. You know they love you,” the headmistress had said. “But I understand. You can always talk to me, and it’s okay to tell your therapist as well. I hope you don’t mind, but I did a very thorough background check on your therapist – you can trust her.”

A few months later, when I had just gotten up the courage to read a few pages in one journal, the headmistress met with me again, this time in her office. She told me about the international classified investigation into the Mage’s worldwide plotting. Some of the men the Mage was dealing with were just suppliers of weapons and illegal magickal charms; other allies were for more sinister partnerships. It appeared that before he died, the Mage was trying to replicate me, maybe create one of me in various strategic locations around the world. Headmistress Bunce, looking pained, asked me to help with the investigation. 

My body was itself a clue, she explained, not meeting my eyes. There was a biologist that could do some tests to learn more about the spells my father had used. 

“Say no, Simon, and I’ll make sure no one even brings up the idea of tests ever again,” the headmistress said. Later I learned that the other investigators had been fighting her for almost a year to get to me.

I said yes. 

Headmistress Bunce attended all the tests; she cried at the first one. I mostly just emptied my head. I stopped all thoughts before they formed. None of the tests were physically painful, just probing. The biologist was apologetic about everything, but she had devised clever ways to test me. They were able to trace some of my father’s conception spells and how they worked. I got to know the whole investigation team, and they all became rather protective of me. One of the team cleverly said to me that I was the Mage’s first victim but not the last. I avoid that investigator now.

I knew, though, that I couldn’t tell Penny or Baz about this now. It would put them in danger. But Headmistress Bunce wanted me to have my best friend with me for when I found something of my mother’s. I assume she knows better than me about this kind of thing. So we told Penny that a researcher at Watford figured out that my mother was the headmistress’s old classmate Lucy, and a small team of magickal history scholars is gathering to try to learn more about Lucy, like a historical research project. I am, after all, still going to be a big part of magickal history. 

Except this team is too intense (and rightfully anxious) to seem like a group of academics. Two of them I know are actually dark arts and weapons specialists – not the historians we’ve told Penny they are. I think back wistfully to when Penny and I promised never to keep secrets from each other.

“What’s up with these guys? Did they have too much coffee or what?” Penny is at my elbow.

We’re walking through a wide hallway in the girls’ dorm where my mother lived. The biologist has charmed me to be a sort of magnet for anything that has even a trace of my mother’s DNA. Headmistress Bunce went a step further and spelled me with, “Look, Mum, no hands!” It’s meant to make anything that has any connection to my mother turn toward me. Now I just have to walk my body through the entire campus while we all hold our breath looking for something to move.

So far, nothing. Penny is losing her patience and we’ve barely started. “I don’t get it. Why do we need every tissue your mother touched? If we know her name, can’t we just look her up in the Daily Record or talk to her family?”

“We’ve done both of those things already, Penny,” Headmistress Bunce says. “We don’t think anyone quite knew what Lucy was up to or is up to now. We know that the letters she wrote home to her mother were almost complete fabrications. She was trying to stay hidden.”

After a long day of creeping through various dark halls and eerily empty classrooms and basements, we quit for the night. Someone picks up dinner from a restaurant in town. I wish we could’ve been here while school was in session; I still miss Watford’s sour cherry scones. But there’s no way we could have detected anything in a school full of students.

Headmistress Bunce agreed to let us sleep in my old room. She had talked to the students who stay there now, and they apparently thought it would be cool to have the (former) Chosen One and slayer of the Humdrum staying in his old room. 

Penny storms in like it’s only been four days, not four years, since she last stepped into this room. I’m stuck at the door. It smells different now. I realize I was hoping to smell bergamot and cedar. 

Penny knows right away. “Come on, Simon. He’s not here, but we can still reminisce. We had some good times here.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I sit on Baz’s old bed. It’s smaller and more narrow than I remember. Penny is on mine.

“So what’s up with you and Namita?” 

So much for reminiscing. “I told you. She’s funny and warm and she grew up like me,” I say. “I don’t know. She helped me see my childhood as something other than a tragedy.”

“And that’s why you’re suddenly dating her?”

“It’s not suddenly. I had known her for months before anything happened,” I say. “And no, that’s not why, but I …it means a lot that she was able to connect with me that way. I’m dating her for the same reasons anyone dates. She’s cute and I like her and I like spending time with her.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “But you’re still in love with Baz! Don’t look at me like that. Anyone could see it when we went out with him. And I know you still track his every move as much as possible from India. You’re still obsessed.”

“It’s not Baz who’s the problem,” I say. “You know that. I – I just gotta fix myself first. I’ve already told you this. And Namita was unplanned – I’m really happy she likes me, but I was never looking for it.”

“It’s not going to last. I mean, she’s 10 years older than you.”

I shrug. “And you? You and Micah? Is that going to last?”

That was mean. I wanted to talk to her about Micah, but I meant to bring it up in a nice, compassionate way. Penny glares a bit then she sighs and drops her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Penny. I didn’t mean it that way. Seriously, do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know, Simon. I don’t know what to tell you besides what I’ve already said to you and, for that matter, to him. I can’t figure it out. We barely talk and he gets annoyed with me so quickly. We just pass each other as we go about our day. There is no connection between us. The worst thing is I feel like my heart is breaking and I don’t even know over what. But he still talks about getting married as if it’s inevitable!”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“Have you met me? Yes! I’ve told him I feel lost and hurt and I don’t know what’s keeping us together. He rolls his eyes! Like I’m just having a tantrum.”

“Penny, I’m sorry.” Tears form in her eyes. 

“What you and Baz had – being in love even through all the years of fighting and misunderstandings – that’s real. You guys went through the worst things and he still loves you. Don’t give that up, Simon!” 

I look away. It’s suddenly warm, stifling. I open the window and lean out. There’s no snow yet this Christmas, but the cold air is biting and the moon is brighter than I’ve ever seen it. Penny comes to lean against me. 

“Simon, do you want to find your mum?”

“What do you mean? Sure. Of course I do. Why would I be here otherwise?”

“Because you never say no to anyone. These guys have some kooky research thesis about the Chosen One, and you feel obliged to go along.”

“It’s not like that, quite.”

“What is it like, then?”

“I’ve dreamed about my mother since I can remember. What it would feel like to be held by her, what she must’ve been like, what her laugh must be like. Sometimes, I let her be a voice in my head that I talk to. I would give anything to know her, even a little bit. But, yeah, I guess this is not the way I imagined I would find her. I thought it would be a personal, private moment. I didn’t expect an audience that would immediately dissect who my mother is and what that means about me.”

“It can still be like that, Simon.”

I laugh with tears coming to my eyes. “How? How will anything about my past ever be private or personal again?”

Penny jumps up and claps like we’re playing a game of charades. “I know! Simon, we’ll do the search ourselves.”

“What?”

“We don’t need a band of weirdos to find clues about your mum’s whereabouts, Simon. Wait here. I’ll be back fast.”

“I don’t know, Penny. There’s a reason that team was brought together…”

“Simon, if you don’t want to find your mum, we’re never going to find her. Just wait here.”

She’s off before I can protest, not that I had a chance of changing her mind. It’s quiet now. I look across the dark lawns and forest. At least I now know my mum went to Watford, maybe she saw the same forests and maybe we even had the same teachers.

I’m starting to think it would be amazing to find my mum, or even just to find some scrap of her – a page from her journal or the stub of a train ticket. I imagine walking up to her door in some remote village, where she’s been hiding from the Mage…

Then I hear a moan. 

It’s a creepy, human moan from outside the window and it’s quiet, but it’s clearly in front of me, not below me on the grounds. I look into the air. I see a bit of a mist forming, but I don’t think it’s just moisture in the air. 

The moan becomes a sort of loud whistle. Then in a raspy whisper, I hear, “Simon.” The mist takes a loose shape. “Simon…”

“Yes?” I’m not sure how to respond to this thing. 

“My rosebud boy.” It’s still a hoarse whisper but much clearer.

“Ms. Pitch?” 

“No, Simon. It’s me. Lucy. …Your mother.” 

My throat clenches and my mind freezes. 

“Simon… Simon! I’ve been trying so hard to talk to you. …I’ve been here for years, trying to make you hear me.”

“Mum!” I finally choke out, blinking through tears. 

“My rosebud boy! How long I’ve waited… to hear you call me that. I came through the Veil and …and refused to return. I had to tell you… I’m sorry.” She talks slowly with lots of pauses and I hold my breath wanting to hear every word.

“The seven days I was with you …were the best days of my life. I held you so tight, you were a ball of light.

“Carrying you, the pregnancy had …weakened me. It’s not your fault, Simon. Your father, he had …cast a spell and I was not as strong as he had wanted. I didn’t know…I didn’t know he had plans to take you away. I know Davy has a good heart, but he wanted so much from the world and from you. I didn’t know…

“Please, Simon, forgive me.”

“Mum, mum. What happened? Why are you…” 

“Simon, I love you. Please forgive me.”

“Yes, of course. I forgive you, but I have to know…”

“Simon…”

“Mum? Mum!” I almost leap out the window.

The air is crystal clear again. There’s no more mist and I call out again but I know she’s gone. I’m surprised that I’m out of breath and panting. The cold wind is becoming more unpleasant.

I hear Penny come into the room behind me, banging something onto the desk.

“Simon! Let’s go. I got the map we’ve been using, some flashlights, and I even got us the leftover pizza from dinner. You’ve got the best best friend ever, Simon. Simon?”

I turn to Penny. My arms feel leaden. My whole body feels sore, and I just want to sleep for days. 

“Penny. My mum…she’s dead.”


	9. Who can I turn to

PENNY  
Simon has been in a conference room with those kooky scholars for hours. What’s taking so long? He told me the whole story of his mother’s visit in an hour and that included sobs. I wish they’d just let him rest. He finally fell asleep in my lap last night after crying for hours. When he woke up this morning, he seemed different. He wasn’t sad, he was angry. He practically called the meeting himself with the academics.

I was skeptical of this whole exercise, but now I’m glad we did it. If it was my mum, I’d certainly want to know if she was even alive. I have to tell Baz…

A door clicks, but it’s coming from the wrong end, not from the conference room. Suddenly, Dev is striding through the hall toward me.

“Dev!” I smile at him. It’s good to see a friend in the middle of all this. His thick eyebrows are knitted and his jaw is set. His face softens a bit, though, when he looks at me.

“Penny. Hello,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Can I…I thought you said Simon was here with you?”

Then I hear the conference room open. Finally. I hear multiple voices and Simon comes around the corner toward us.

“Hey, sorry about that. We just had to…Dev, hi. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to talk to you. I need to make something clear to you, Simon. This can’t wait. …You are not to come near Baz again. No more Skype or email, no more asking me about him, and next time you’re in town, he doesn’t need to know. Do you understand?”

Dev always speaks quietly and he manages to keep his voice down even now, but I hear a growl in his throat. He’s clenching a fist and pointing his other hand at Simon. His eyes are unblinking. I see Simon flex his jaw and I’m afraid this is going to turn physical, but a couple of seconds later, Simon looks down and his shoulders slump.

“Yeah. I understand. You’re right, Dev. I’m sorry. I’ll stay away.”

Finally Dev blinks. He was expecting a fight too. “Good,” he says.

“Dev, you don’t understand…” I say.

“I’m sorry, Penny. I’m not backing down from this.”

“But, Dev,” I lower my voice and turn to face him directly, putting a hand on his arm. I know Simon can hear me, but I want to make sure Dev understands how urgent this is. “We just found out—“

“Penny, don’t—“ Simon starts to cut me off, but I have to say this now.

“We just found out Simon’s mother is dead.”

“What?”

“We just found out Simon’s mother is dead. We came to Watford because some researchers figured out Simon’s mum was a student here and thought we’d find some relic of hers that we could use to trace her whereabouts. But instead Simon found her ghost.”

Dev is now looking at me only. No one speaks for a minute and then he closes his eyes. He looks up at Simon and says, “I’m sorry, Simon. That’s awful.”

Simon nods.

“But it doesn’t change things. I’m sorry. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t turn to Baz when you need him and not be there for him when he needs you. I tried to be cool about you leaving at first because I thought you just needed some time away. I’ve never seen my cousin so happy as when you were together, and I thought you guys would eventually... But you’re fooling around with some girl in India? You don’t know what you’re doing to Baz. I don’t think there’s room in your life for Baz. I don’t want to see him holding out for something that’s never going to come back.”

“That’s not for us to say, Dev,” I say, though I have said a lot on this. “Baz would want to know about Simon’s mum. He’d be pissed that we didn’t let him know.”

“No, Penny. It’s fine,” Simon says. “Baz doesn’t need to know or worry.”

Dev is looking at me, though, and he shakes his head. “No, you’re right, Penny. … This is what we’re going to do: After you return to India, I’m going to tell Baz that I heard about your mum from Penny. If he calls or emails or texts or whatever, Simon, you thank him for his concern and say nothing else. No long conversations or talks. And then you never call or write again. Got it?”

“He’ll be pissed at Simon then!” I say.

“He should be!”

“That’s fine. That’s fine,” Simon says. “Penny, Dev is right. I need to let Baz go.”

“You’re most of the way there already, Simon,” Dev says and then takes a breath and shakes his head. “But I am, I am really sorry about your mum. I hope you have a peaceful Christmas.”

Dev looks at me, nods in farewell and walks away. Maybe I shouldn’t have texted him where we were when he asked, but with Dev I feel like a co-conspirator and I didn’t think twice about answering his text. For a few months after the Mage’s death, Dev and Baz stopped talking to each other when Dev first learned that Baz was not being honest about his feelings for Simon. But they patched things up soon enough. A couple of years ago, Dev and I ended up chatting for hours over a beer. We had gone out with Simon and Baz and the two of them slipped out making up an excuse about getting up early. Dev and I laughed at them and spent the night telling our stories about being their – well, we ended up calling ourselves their ‘guardians’.

Dev grew up with Baz; they’re cousins. He had been at the nursery when vampires attacked and turned Baz. Dev remembers visiting Baz daily as he was recovering from the vampire attack. Dev left school at the start of our eighth year to try to find Baz when he had been kidnapped, and he was there for him when Baz returned. Dev has always thought of himself as Baz’s big brother, though they’re the same age. I told him Baz called him and Niall his ‘minions’ and Dev laughed, his eyes joyful, like it was an inside joke and not an insult.

“I know it makes me sound old, but I’m proud of Baz,” Dev had said. “Anyone else might have used his vampire super strength to take advantage of others and not fought the urge to feed on humans. Baz sets high standards for himself. His father never took up the role of nurturer after his mother passed. I’m glad Simon and Fiona are in his life.”

“And you, Dev. He’s lucky to have you, too.”

I told him I felt the same about Simon. It felt so good to tell someone that. For a while, I thought Agatha was that person. That she would know what it’s like to love and care for someone who has suffered multiple tragedies, but it was all too much for Agatha.

If the tables were turned, I know I probably would have done exactly what Dev just did. And, in that situation, he would’ve done what I just did – he would’ve argued that Simon and Baz would never fall out of love. You can see it in their faces.


	10. Baz moves on

DEV  
Our family is not polite. We are proper and we show class, but we withhold deference or reverence only for those who are really worthy. We fight and show up uninvited when we have to. So I have been showing up to Baz’s flat at least weekly, uninvited and braced for a fight, since Simon told him he was seeing someone else. Usually, Baz tells me to fuck off, and I ignore him.

This morning, I’m looking forward to the spat. I knock on his door, nursing my second coffee for the morning. Baz answers after several minutes, looking a mess. His hair is sticking up in odd places and he’s in shorts and a thin, old t-shirt. Usually he sits around in the mornings in silk pyjamas. I don’t know if this is an improvement. He squints at me, sleep still in his eyes.

“Oi. It’s 11am, brother. Wake up!” I say.

Baz grins and takes the coffee out of my hand. I didn’t expect that. I stroll in, looking for something to pick on him for.

“Hello?”

I turn around to find a tall, lanky man wearing jeans and no shirt, standing in the doorway to Baz’s bedroom.

“Dev, meet Ray,” Baz smiles wickedly and raises his eyebrows a bit. “Ray is visiting from Mexico and I’ve been showing him the best (ahem) sites in London. Dev is my dear cousin who likes to show up uninvited.”

I roll my eyes. Baz is usually subtler; he must really be enjoying this.

“Hi, Dev. It’s good to meet you,” Ray nods at me and smiles at Baz. “Excuse me, Baz, the bathroom?”

Baz points to the bathroom and Ray scoots across the flat, his shirt in hand. I hear the faucet come on.

“So, been busy lately?” I raise an eyebrow.

Baz laughs. “Just having fun, Dev, like you keep telling me to. And Ray has been fun.”

“Alright,” I grin. “I want the story – not the details, but the story – later. Call me.”

 

BAZ  
Ray is actually the second guy I’ve been with this month. He’s just the first that Dev has met, and I had no intention to introduce Ray to anyone. For one thing, Ray is a nickname and I can’t remember his full name. It’s not that I need to hide anything, especially from Dev, but I like keeping this part of my life to myself for now.

Spending time with Ray, with the other guys I date, is just fun. I feel unencumbered. I don’t have to manage complicated feelings and sensitivities. Sometimes I think of Simon, but I find it easier now to put him to the side. Dating and sleeping with these men is like playing the violin. My head stops processing a hundred thoughts a minute.

I had been upset that Simon was dating someone, and that I never heard from him again while he was here for Christmas. None of that mattered when Dev told me Simon found his mum’s ghost. I called him immediately. I was looking up flights to India at the same time I was dialing his number. But Simon was distant on the phone. He was polite and then gave an excuse to get off the phone. I heard a woman’s voice in the background. I pictured him getting off the phone and turning to Namita. (Why do I still remember her name?)

I shook it off fast. For a minute, I wanted to call Penny, ask her how Simon was really doing, and maybe yell at her for not telling me directly. But I know when I’m not wanted in someone’s life. So instead of calling Penny, I went to a bar the same night and I went home with a blond guy who smiled a lot. That was more than four months ago. I’ve learned to take my time responding to Penny’s texts and emails. I never hear from Simon.

Don’t get me wrong: I want to be kind and decent with the guys I’m seeing. Everyone I’ve been with has been good to me, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. Hurting someone also makes things messy, and I want to have fun. I am just aloof and just warm enough to make it easy to slide in and out of people’s lives. So far, there have been no complications.

Ray and I finish lunch. I usually order a big bowl of soup so it’s easy for me to sip and hide my fangs, which I can keep almost suppressed now that I have more control over them. Ray is going back to his hotel. His flight home is tonight, so we say our goodbyes now. He gives me a warm kiss and thanks me for the weekend. I thank him too and I mean it. I turn around and we know we’ll never see each other again. I’m walking down the sidewalk away from him. I have no illusions anymore, and I feel like I could conquer the world.

Which is unfortunate for the big, mustachioed man I spot as I’m walking back to my flat. I have seen this guy a few times now in different places. A couple of times I’ve caught his eye and seen a look of recognition and nervousness. I’ve mostly just ignored him. Well, today I feel like I’m in control and I’m going to figure out what this man is after.

“Can I help you with something?” I almost yell across the street where the man is trying to look inconspicuous. “Excuse me, sir. Yes you. Why are you looking for me?”

He freezes a bit, then he quickly walks across to me, eyes lowered. “You’re Tyrranus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?”

“Maybe.”

“I have a message that needs to reach Simon Snow,” he says with a German accent.

Of course. Fucking, of course.

“I have lost touch with him.”

“Well, you must know how to reach him. Please just give him this envelope.”

The man takes out his wand and I pull mine out instantly, but the mustache man points his wand at the envelope and spells **“Mind your own business.”** Oh, he doesn’t want me to read his note to Simon. Well, I could have saved him some trouble. I don’t want to know any of Simon Snow’s business. I wonder why he didn't use a German spell.

“Look, I’m not his secretary. Maybe you can send this to Watford and ask it to be forwarded.”

“That’s too dangerous,” he says. I roll my eyes. Simon’s groupies all seem to think they’re in a James Bond film.

“Please, just make sure he gets it. I read in the Daily Record that you were his closest friend. It’s a matter of life and death. Please.”

“You read wrong…”

But it’s too late. He has shoved the envelope into my hand and taken off, looking furtively in every direction for I don’t know what. Simon Fucking Snow.


	11. Chance encounters?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and comments!

SIMON  
Namita and I linger over lunch. We haven’t spent time together alone in weeks. She’s telling me about law school.

“After that first year, though, I made some really really good friends. I thank god I even got through that first year,” she says.

Being with her is like taking a break from the world, though she’s grounded in reality more than I am sometimes. I smile and squeeze her hand under the table. I still haven’t told her much about myself, but that may not matter.

I get back to the office and feel guilty when I see multiple voicemails from Headmistress Bunce on my mobile. This has been a busy time in our Mumbai offices, and I haven’t been able to get to a meeting with the magickal investigation team in more than two months.

I call Mitali Bunce right away. “Simon, I have some concerning news,” she skips over greetings just like her daughter. “We’ve figured out that the Mage’s journals and much of our notes on the investigation have been leaked.”

“By who?”

“We don’t know. But it explains why Manuel Santos came looking for you, instead of continuing to harass me. We also think the leaked documents are spreading further. Just after Christmas, I got a visit from Akio Kogo. He told me he was from the school of magic in Japan, and they had developed a way to help you get your magic back. He wanted your contact information. I knew exactly who he was, of course, from our investigation. He’s now under arrest by the Coven, but he refuses to speak.”

“Why are they looking for me? What was leaked exactly?”

“We don’t know exactly what was leaked, but we think the notes from the biological tests were probably part of it. I think some of your father’s former associates think they can replicate you themselves if they can just …study you.”

“What?” I say it so sharply that Rajan looks up questioningly. I smile weakly at him and shake my head that it’s nothing important. I step out of the office into the empty hallway. I pace and tear at my hair.

“Simon, you need to be very careful. We have reason to believe some of these people know you’re in India. Thankfully, India has a number of magickal schools, and they don’t seem to know where exactly you are. The schools in Delhi and Kolkatta both reported to Navin and me that questionable people came looking for you. I don’t think anyone knows yet that you’re in Mumbai, and we want to keep it that way.”

“How do we do that? Apparently, someone is just leaking all sorts of information. It can’t be long before they find me.”

I have never been up against this kind of shit without my magic, without Penny and without Baz.

“Do not go back to the Mumbai School of Magic. Navin can find you if he needs you. Do not talk to anyone about magic, not even casually. Simon, there’s one more thing. Basil received an envelope from a strange man on the street a couple of weeks ago.”

“What?! Is he OK?”

“Yes, he’s fine. The strange man who found Basil was actually more skittish than these other people who’ve been showing up. And Basil’s description of him doesn’t fit any of the Mage’s former associates we’ve identified so far.”

“What’s in the envelope?”

“That’s the problem. He spelled it so it will only open for you, Simon. Basil delivered it in person to my house. He said the man told Basil that sending it to Watford would be dangerous. Basil thought it was silly but he eventually decided not to risk it. And I’m glad. I can tell that there are many charms and wards on this thing. I can’t open it, but anyone who knows magic will be drawn to this thing. I don’t want to mail it across countries. I want to know it gets straight into your hands. I’m going to find a courier.”

I swallow. I know I shouldn’t do this, but I say, “I could come pick it up.”

 

PENNY  
I don’t understand why Simon is doing this. First he agrees to Dev’s ridiculous demand to shut out Baz then he decides to show up just five months later to creep on him!

“I don’t want to hear it tonight, Penny,” Simon says. We’re in a taxi on our way to a small auditorium where Baz is performing with an ensemble of four other musicians.

“Just tell me why!”

“I had to come to pick up the envelope, so I figured I’d check the concert out too.”

“Mum said she’d send a courier, Simon. You didn’t need to come to London. But even if you’re in London, you don’t need to come to a concert,” my voice is rising. I don’t care. “And even if you’re going to this concert anyway, you don’t need to hide!!”

“I don’t know any other way,” Simon says. “I want to be at this concert, and I don’t want him to know.”

“Tell me why you're doing this or I’m getting out of this car!”

Simon refuses to look at me, but he says quietly, “Because I love him. Because it's taken all the strength I have to stay away. Because seeing him happy, listening to him on the violin… there’s nothing better. He’s amazing on the violin, Penny. Wait until you hear him. …But I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to be a source of pain for him.”

There’s nothing I can think to say.

We hang out on the sidewalk across from the school auditorium until the last minute and then rush in to find seats in the back corner of the small, plush theater as the lights dim. Simon thinks he’s being sly and stealth, I think we’re being a little slimy.

The curtain opens, and I hear Simon draw in a breath when Baz comes out. Simon is sitting still on the edge of his seat, staring at Baz the whole night. I know Dev is going to kill me for even telling Simon about this concert – how was I to know Simon would fly in for it? But it’s kind of worth it to see Simon’s face.

 

BAZ  
This is my first performance outside of Watford and probably my last. I got a call from the cellist who heard I was good on the violin. It’s an ensemble of amateurs who have day jobs, but they like to put on a performance when they can. We’ve only been practicing for a month, but we sound pretty good. The music they selected is a fantastic contemporary piece, and my violin feels good in my hands again. Work at the bank is hectic and long hours of practice are not easy to fit in, so I doubt I’ll do this again. I might as well enjoy my last concert.

I’m nervous that my entire family is in the audience. They rarely made it to Watford for a recital, and I’m five years out of practice. Tonight’s performance goes smoothly, though. By the middle of the performance, I’ve forgotten the audience almost altogether.

After the curtain falls, I go to meet my family. We’re ushered out onto the sidewalk in front of the school. Dev and Niall give me a hug and my siblings jostle for their turn to hug me. Daphne gives me a big smile and kiss. My father, though, keeps it cool. He shakes my hand and nods, “Good job, Basilton.”

Suddenly Mordelia squeals, “Simon!”

Simon? I’m not sure I heard her right. She runs across the street. I look to where she’s headed, and I see him. Curls combed to the side the way I like, mouth hanging open, and eyes frozen on me. Simon Snow is inexplicably across the street from me. I have a flashback momentarily to our 5th year at Watford when I’d turn and find Simon in improbable places following me, including, I remember, outside my violin class.

Mordelia crashes into Simon with a big hug. Those two became so close when Simon and I were dating that they still stay in touch. She is terrible at school too, and they like to commiserate. I would tell Simon to stop coddling her, but I’m still glad he cared so much for her. Then Mordelia hugs Penny. Was she always standing there?

We’re just all staring at each other across the street. This is ridiculous. I walk across, and Dev and Niall are close behind.

“Snow.”

“Baz. Hi. I was just…I just…”

“What brings you to London?” I’m not sneering or smirking. I keep my face totally blank. I want him to see this isn’t a thing at all. Running into him unexpectedly is like running into any other meaningless acquaintance. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dev glaring at Penny.

“Um, well. The, um, envelope…”

“Oh right, the envelope that only the Chosen One can open.” Simon winces, he hates that nickname. Good.

“Baz, be nice. Simon, it’s so weird that we ran into you here!” Mordelia says. “It’s such a coincidence. We just got out of a concert Baz was in. He was playing! It was so good.”

“I know! I loved the second piece,” Simon says to Mordelia, “…I mean…I…we were just…“

I raise an eyebrow and frown. Penny is giving Dev a look that’s part guilt and part panic.

“So you saw it,” I say.

“Yeah. …You – you were great, Baz.”

“Thanks.” I knit my eyebrows together and pretend to be genuinely curious. “Tell me, does Namita know you’re here?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Great. So she knows you’re here, and I don’t even know you’re in the city,” I say. “And you’re sneaking into my concert. This is bizarre even for you, Snow.”

Then I turn to his friend and let loose an awful sneer. “Bunce, you should’ve told me you were coming to the concert. I could’ve gotten you tickets for the best seats in the house. See, there are benefits to communicating like decent people.”

“Baz, it’s not like that…” Penny starts.

I start to walk away. Dev stays behind, clearly ready to scold someone. I don’t care. My parents have crossed the street with the smaller kids at the traffic light and are catching up with us. My father looks flushed like he walked too quickly.

“Basilton, why didn’t you tell us your friends had come?” my father says, a little breathless, and …smiling? He walks past me and puts a hand out to Simon. I almost huff as I stop to wait for my parents.

“Simon, good to see you again,” father says. He stands back with his hands in his pockets. “I thought you were in India. Bangalore, was it?”

“Hello, sir. It’s good to see you too. No, um, I’m in Mumbai.”

“Mumbai!? Oh, of course, of course, of course. So you’re visiting? And how long are you in London?”

“Just a couple of days, Mr. Grimm. I head back Monday.”

I feel an ache in my stomach and hate myself for wishing he wasn’t leaving so soon. I try to think of Ray, of all the other men I’ve been with. Weren’t they supposed to mean that I was over Simon? Isn’t that how this should work?

“So soon! Well, you should come to our flat here,” my father says. He has never invited Simon anywhere. “Oh no, not Baz’s. That’s much too small. We keep a flat in the city to stay at when we’re here. Come by before you leave. I’m sure you and Baz want to, um, catch up.”

“Catch up?” I raise my voice a bit, but bring it back down quickly. “Father, Simon is clearly busy. And besides, there’s not much to catch up on.”

“Oh, don’t be rude, Baz. The children would certainly love to see him.” I am perplexed at my father’s sudden desire to be social, but part of me hopes Simon will say yes. And when he comes over to my parents’ flat, maybe I’ll punch him.

“Thank you, sir. That’s really kind of you to offer, but Baz is right. I have very little free time while I’m here. I don’t think I’ll be able to visit.”

Penny starts to pull Simon away, saying good night to everyone. I am waiting for my family to finish saying goodbye and feel annoyed that I can’t storm off like I wanted to. We finally turn to walk away. Dev puts an arm around my shoulders and I shrug him off. Do I have any say whatsoever over Simon’s role in my life? 


	12. The depth of his deprivation

PENNY

My job interview was awesome. I haven’t told Micah but my friends and family here know I’m thinking about moving back to London – and breaking up with Micah. I still haven’t made a decision, but this job opportunity came up out of the blue and I applied. I have a difficult conversation coming up when I get back to America.

I get a text from Dev: “How was the interview?”

“Fantastic!”

“Yay!”

“How’s Baz?” I text.

“Hungover. I told him not to blame you.”

“No one should be blamed. Simon was just missing him.”

“That’s Simon’s problem.”

“He snuck in like that because you told him to stay away!!!”

“I don’t understand him.”

“No one does. But you can’t keep those two apart. I learned that a long time ago.”

I’m walking up to my parents’ house. Simon hasn’t left all day. After last night, he’s just moping around the house. As I’m walking up to the door, I hear a scuffle behind me and turn around. A huge man in all black has a wand pointed at me. I hear a spell in a language I don’t recognize. I turn my magickal ring toward him, but his spell hits me before I can open my mouth. My body freezes up. The man makes a gesture, opening his hand like a claw and pulling back – I go flying toward him and he holds me frozen, a few inches off the ground, floating next to him. It’s not painful, but it’s terrifying that I’ve lost all ability to move.

“Bunce,” he yells in a voice that shakes me. He has an accent, but I can’t place it. “I demand your attention!”

My mother comes running out and glares, eyes blazing and wand drawn.

“Put down your wand!”

She slips it into her sleeve slowly. She growls back loud and clear, “Let her go.”

“Simon Snow for your daughter!” The man does not waste time.

“You will release my daughter now. I will not be threatened by you, Aliyev.”

Aliyev slowly closes his claw-shaped hand gesture, and I feel my body being squeezed until I can barely breath. My eyes bulge.

“Stop that! Stop!”

“I want Simon Snow. Now!”

Simon steps out. “I’m right here, Aliyev. Let Penny go.”

Oh no. Oh no. What is Simon doing? He has no magic and he should not be standing in plain sight of this madman.

“I know you have wards on the house against me. Don’t try to fool me or I will not release your Penelope.”

Suddenly, I hear a spell in a foreign language from the roof (It must be a counter spell in Aliyev’s language.) (I later learned it was Kazakh.) (Kazakh??). A blue light hits Aliyev’s hand. He cries in pain, his grip on me disappears, and I dash to the house, ignoring the awful pain as feeling returns to my limbs. Another spell comes from the roof, this time in English – **“You have the right to remain silent!”** – and handcuffs appear and bind Aliyev to our fence. My mother pushes Simon and me inside the house, and I see two more mages run out to grab Aliyev and his wand.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My mother is moving around our family room, getting on the phone and giving orders to some of the people here. Aliyev is to be taken to a prison by two magicians, the two magicians who were on the roof are told to keep vigil at the top floor windows, and a fifth magician is asked to call a team to escort Simon to the airport tomorrow. Then Mum calls someone in Kazakhstan – someone in some official position in the magickal community there – to let them know she has Aliyev. I think I recognize some of the mages in our house from our expedition to find Simon’s mother.

“What the hell is going on,” I say, but no one hears me.

 

SIMON

It feels so good to tell Penny everything. From who Aliyev is (one of the Mage’s international associates we had already profiled) to why he was looking for me to what I read in my father’s journals.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!" she says. "We have a pact! We tell each other everything. …And that too, it’s such a cool mystery! I mean we’re talking about an international cabal of villains. It’s too juicy to keep for yourself!”

I smile at Penny and shake my head. She grins sheepishly and knocks me gently with her open palm against the side of my head.

“Really, Simon, I can’t believe you went through all that alone. I wish I could’ve been there for you when you found out about your father.”

“At first, I just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Talking to you …or Baz… I didn’t know how to," I shrug. "Then at some point, I thought it’d be too dangerous to include you.”

Penny rolls her eyes and says, “You sound like mum. There’s no way we don’t get involved when it comes to you, Simon.”

“I’m sorry, Penny. When Aliyev took you today, I almost lost it,” I say, choking a little.

“Well, I’m here now. I’m joining that investigation team even if it means I have to hound my mum day and night.”

“I don’t have time for that, Penny,” Headmistress Bunce appears at the door with tea for both of us. “I’m giving you a print-out of all our documents to read on the plane back to Chicago. Be careful with them; I can’t send them to you electronically without risking a breach now. Your first task on the team is to figure out how all these men are tracking down Simon. You need to figure out where and who the leak is.”

Then Headmistress Bunce strokes her daughter’s cheek. Her eyes shine and she says, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, for asking so much. You may have to move back faster than you were planning.” She drops a kiss on Penny's head, through her unruly magenta curls.

The team re-assembles late at night to finally open the envelope. This morning, we tested the mysterious envelope in case it’s charmed to hurt me or if it contains toxins. Aliyev interrupted us just as I was about to open it. Now, I sit next to Penny and open the envelope and find a letter several pages long, written by hand, and addressed to me.

> _“Dear Mr. Snow, My name is Edvard. For my family’s safety, I will not share our actual names. I was one of the first mages your father reached out to to devise plans to reproduce you, to create another mage so powerful that she can draw from the magickal environment, who doesn’t even need a wand or a spell to make magic happen. I was an ambitious young man, and I saw this as my opportunity to rise among Germany’s magickal society. I set about looking for a proper mate._
> 
> _The Mage – your father – had convinced me that it was just a matter of finding a strong, willing and magickal woman. I met ‘Sonia’ in 2007 – around the time you started at Watford. I courted her diligently. And then, I fell in love. I was not expecting that. We got married, and I shared with her that there was a way to give our children the gift of enormous power. She was enthusiastic.”_

He writes further describing the spells he used on his pregnant wife. They were much like what my father describes in the journal. It turns my stomach that this happened again to another child. The man continues his story after the pregnancy:

> _“When my child was born, Sonia and I both fell deeply in love with her instantly. She was powerful, we knew, because she exhibited some of the same signs of power that your father described about you as a babe. The Mage congratulated us. Then, when my little girl was just a week old, he told me it was time to send her away! There was no way Sonia or I could do that. For years, the Mage, your father, urged us to send her away. We held on to her ferociously. Then, when my daughter turned four, the Mage had her kidnapped. Sonia and I went mad and used every contact and magickal spell we had to find her and bring her back home. We are fortunate that she is safe with us now. I am ashamed that I ever took up your father’s idea. I was young and stupid. To use a child for your own ambitions is ugly! I am sorry for you, Simon, that you were not cherished as you should have been. I have followed your activities in the newspapers and I respect how brave and principled you have grown to be. My family – all three of us – went into hiding after the kidnapping. And as long as dangerous people are still trying to replicate you, we will stay in hiding._
> 
> _Our daughter is turning 12 soon. She is powerful and we are teaching her how to control magic, but she does not exhibit the capacity you did at her age. Your father was right – a loving family and feeling secure can dull the strongest and deepest reserves of power that seem to be activated when you feel threatened. But I don’t regret for a second that my daughter is less powerful if it means she has her family with her. I am writing to tell you three things that I understand now about your father, what he did to you, and the men who are still trying to do the same. 1) Your mother did not have to die. Sonia had a difficult pregnancy (just like your mother) but she recovered afterward with care and attention. 2)….2)…”_

I break off reading. Tears are forming and my throat is closing. I swallow and try to continue. It’s no good. I put my head on Penny’s shoulder and sob.

“My poor mum….Penny, my mum,” I choke out between sobs. She’s holding my head and crying too. I get a pang of yearning for Baz; I want to be in his arms, but then I remember Penny frozen and in pain at the hand of Aliyev this afternoon and I clear my head. After several minutes and a glass of water, I continue reading.

> _“2) After his experience with me and Sonia, the Mage made it a point to only work with men ruthless and determined enough to not get attached to a child or its mother. I understand he developed rigorous tests of loyalty, and became much more guarded about sharing his spells. What I have learned from some contacts is that the Mage promised the spells to many people, but as he grew more paranoid, he never delivered all of what he promised to anyone. 3) For a couple of years after the Mage’s death, his old associates stayed out of sight. Now, I am seeing an alarming rise of communication and excitement among these men. Something has happened in the last two years. There is renewed hope among these men of creating powerful child mages to be used and abused for their own gain. I cannot stress how dangerous these men that your father was working with are. The Mage stoked their imagination for power, and they are insulted that the Mage decided they were unworthy.”_

The letter continues describing the men looking for those spells. We already have profiles on most of them, but a couple of new names pop up. I finish reading and look up at the team. Everyone is silent, staring at the papers in my hand. It must be nearing 1am.

“Let’s make copies of the letter. Simon, you should get some rest,” Mrs. Bunce says. “Your flight is early tomorrow, and before we get any more visitors, I’d like you to get back to Mumbai.”

Penny and I climb up to her father’s office to make copies. “Is this why you moved to India, Simon?” Penny asks. “Finding out about your father and who he was?”

“Kind of, but not exactly. When I read my father’s journals, I felt like I had to prove myself, I had to know I wasn’t him. But I also went for all the reasons I told you. Reading those journals just made me face what I was hiding from for a while.”

“You should tell Baz. You don’t have to tell him everything, but at least tell him the Mage was your father.”

“I know. I will eventually, Penny. Just let me do it on my own time.”


	13. It's not over yet

SIMON  
Namita drives like a maniac, even by Mumbai standards. We’re driving well past midnight along the Indian Ocean coast that Mumbai’s skyscrapers line up against. I’m laughing and telling her to slow down.

“This is the only time when you can do this!” Namita protests. It’s true: during the day the dense traffic moves at a crawl. She finally parks in a side street, and we walk across to the sea wall to sit. I’ve never seen Mumbai so peaceful. The bright lights of the line of city's many towering buildings are comforting on this quiet night. Namita smiles, eyes bright, out into the dark waves crashing against the beach under the moon. She puts her hand on top of mine, and I squeeze gently.

“Simon, I know you don’t want to be here,” she says, turning her gentle smile toward me.

I can’t help but smile back, partly because she is being so kind and partly because I’m touched that she knows me this well.

“It’s not you, Namita,” I say. “After I found out about my mother, I don’t feel right anywhere.”

Namita doesn’t know everything about my past, but I told her after Christmas that I found out my mother wasn’t estranged as I had hoped but rather she had died when I was a baby. I told her I found out more information about my mum on my recent trip, but I didn’t give specifics.

“Simon, how many times have you been in love?”

“Um, I don’t know. Well, I guess…I mean….”

“It’s ok, Simon. I’m not in love with you, either. I know what we have is wonderful and sweet, but…you know.”

She kisses me firmly on my mouth as if to reassure me. “Yeah, I know.” I smile. “I’ve only been in love once. There was another time I thought was in love, but it wasn’t.”

“Hmmmm. I’ve been in love four times. The longest relationship I’ve had was two years.” She laughs at my look of surprise. “I don’t know what is wrong with me, honestly. I think for some of us – some of us who grew up in children’s homes – it can be hard to …trust love. I moved around a lot like you as a child, and sometimes I feel like I’m my best and most alert and sharpest when I’m thrown into a new situation and don’t see any familiar faces. I’ve worked in seven cities and three countries, Simon.”

“Wow,” I say. “Is it hard? I mean, do you ever wish you could be like other people who can settle into one place, with one person and live a normal life?”

“Yeah, of course. All the time. But then I am also happy, and the choices I made really worked for me. I had a friend who got married young, had children right away, and never lived outside the city she grew up in and one day she said to me that she wished she had made my choices – seeing interesting places and never settling.”

I think about that for a minute and look out at the starry sky.

“What I’m saying, Simon, is that everyone at some point is frustrated with their lives, and it looks like someone else is getting it right. When you grow up like we did, that feeling is even worse because we feel like there’s some secret lesson of life we missed getting from parents.

“You and I are the lucky ones. You know most people who grow up in institutions have shitty lives as adults by no fault of their own. We all have to make the most of what we have, and not take it for granted. You’re an amazing man, Simon. You’re one of the warmest people I’ve ever known. You do what is right even when it’s difficult. You’re clever. You will fuck up, many times. That’s life. But you have to know your strengths and try to live a life that means something to you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She releases a big sigh and leans into me. “I have the feeling our relationship is going to end soon, and I wanted you to know you’re wonderful and remind you – again – you’re not alone in what you’re going through.”

I take her hand and kiss the back of her fingers. I’ve been distant for a couple of months (we’ve been dating for nine months now), barely making time for her outside work, and I know she’s a little annoyed with it. “You’re awesome too.”

“So, tell me about the person you were in love with. Or, should I say still in love with?” She turns to look at me with those clever eyes.

 

BAZ  
Another Sunday morning and another end to a night of energetic sex with a man I will likely not see again. It’s been four months since I ran into Simon after my concert, and I have been on a spree – London is full of gorgeous men. The man I brought home last night – Steven, I think – and I get some coffee at a shop I don’t usually frequent. I’ve just barely said goodbye to Steven, and when I run into Dev.

“My favorite cousin!”

“Baz, how are you?” We hug.

“So I saw you were with yet a new man,” Dev says. “Baz, I have to ask, are you being safe?”

“Yes, Mum,” I say, sneering.

“I’m not joking, Baz. You’ve been…active, lately.”

“I wasn’t joking either – about the being safe part. Condoms are my friends. But I hear some judgment there in your voice, Dev.”

“It’s not judgment. I’m glad you’re meeting people—“

“More than meeting—“

“Are you meeting anyone you like? Are you going on more than one date with anyone?”

“I like everyone I meet. And I made it to date number five with this particularly shy guy.”

Dev rolls his eyes. “Baz, there is more to relationships than sex…”

“Do tell, Dev. You do have all that experience – one girlfriend for nine months in college and a crush on Penelope fucking Bunce that you refuse to acknowledge.”

Dev stops short. “Knock it off, Baz.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, looking at his expression. He gets so silly over girls, really. Was I like that over Simon? “Look, I’m nice to everyone I date. And what’s the harm in having fun?”

“I’m not worried about the guys you’re dating. I’m worried about you. You deserve someone who cares about you.”

“Ha. That’s not real life, Dev,” I say. “I’m not being cynical. I just realize that you can’t ask for more than people can give. I’m still a monster, Dev, remember?”

I raise an eyebrow and Dev shakes his head. He hates it when I bring up my vampirism. “And I can’t expect anyone to want that for long. With the guys I’m dating now, it’s not so intense. I can control my …desire, my fangs, my everything…pretty easily with them and we all go away content. So be happy for me. If it got more serious, they’d have to deal with a lot more than they bargained for.”

Dev is arguing, following me up the stairs to my flat. You can’t shake my family. As if to reinforce this, I get to my door and find Mordelia standing in front, her eyes raw and rimmed in red.

“Baz! I’ve been trying to reach you all day!”

“What are you doing here, Mordelia? Wait, let’s go inside, and you can tell me.”

I go straight to my kitchen to make us some tea. I use magic and have it ready in an instant. Mordelia rarely comes to my flat, but I like when she does. It makes me feel like I’m in my Aunt Fiona’s role, taking care of the younger ones.

“Do our parents know you’re here?”

“No. Baz, something awful is about to happen.” Mordelia is on my heels, following me to the kitchen and back, talking fast. “It’s Simon. He’s in trouble. We have to tell him or someone in India soon.”

Simon fucking Snow again. When will I finally be rid of him? I bring out the tea.

“Simon?” Dev asks like he doesn’t know Simon attracts drama like a magnet. I'm starting to regret we all became good friends while Simon and I were dating. “Did he say something to you? He’s in trouble?”

“No, I haven’t talked to him. I think you should tell him, Baz. You have to call Simon and tell him he’s in danger,” Mordelia says. “I …I heard from someone who heard from someone else who… it doesn’t matter how I heard it, but I know it’s true…”

“What? Mordelia, take a breath and tell us what is going on,” I say. I push her gently into a chair, give her a mug and sit across from her. I’m getting nervous. I don’t want to get sucked back into Simon Snow’s drama, not when I’ve finally figured out that part of my life.

“I heard – from credible sources – that someone is sending a gang or a team of, like, professional criminals to kidnap Simon! They’re from South Africa and they want to do some tests on Simon or something.”

“What? That’s crazy, Mordelia. Whom did you hear this from?”

“Don’t ask me, Baz. Please don’t ask me. But you’ve got to trust me. I’ve never lied to you. I know you think I’m an idiot, but you know I’ve never lied to you.” Mordelia is looking at me wide-eyed, and I see her hands shaking around the mug.

“Ok, ok. I believe you, Mordelia. I’ll call Simon.”

I pull up Skype on my laptop with a mixture of dread and excitement. I ring up Simon, but he doesn’t answer. I’m mostly relieved.

“We’ll try again later, Mordelia,” I say. “Is there anything else you can tell me about this?”

“No. Oh god, Baz! What if it’s already happened?”

“Well, there’s not much we can do from here, right? We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Damn, Baz!” Dev explodes behind me. “This is Simon. Your Simon! Fucking Skype him until he picks up. Call every number you have for him. I’m calling Penny.”

“Hey, back off. You’re the one telling me to move on from Simon. I’ll help if he’s in trouble, but there’s no point in getting worked up,” I say. “Besides, honestly, this sounds like just another one of the Simon groupies making up stories.”

“What’s wrong with you, Baz? Even if you’re not together, I know you still care about him. Why do you always have to play it so cool?” Dev says.

Before I can retort, he cuts me off with a wave of his hand. He has Bunce on the phone already and puts the call on speaker.

“Dev! Thank Merlin. I have to find Baz,” Bunce yells out.

“I’m here, Penelope. Dev has you on speaker. What’s going on?” I can hear Penelope is in crisis-management mode.

“It’s Simon. He’s missing.”

“Oh no! Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Mordelia cries out.

“Who’s that?” Penny asks.

“Mordelia,” I say. “We heard rumors that there’s some South African gang going after Snow.”

“How did you hear that? And when? And… never mind; there’s no time for this, Baz. I’m leaving for Mumbai in three hours. I need you to come with me.”

I look at Dev, who raises his eyebrows and nods slightly. I have no choice, apparently.

“Ah...I’ll see you at Heathrow, I guess.”

We get off the phone, and my sister and cousin go into overdrive. Mordelia is deep in my closet in seconds pulling out underpants, trousers and shirts, babbling about keeping me covered from the sun. I’m tempted to yank my underpants out of her hands. She never developed any sense of boundaries as much as I tried to teach her. Dev is throwing my toothbrush and toiletries in a pouch. Where did he find that pouch?

I move in slow motion, rummaging slowly through my desk. “What am I looking for again?”

“Your passport!” they both cry out.

“Should I pay the light bill?” I ask. “I mean it’s not due for a while, but…”

“No!” Dev cries, already dragging a large suitcase out. I should check what they packed, I’m thinking. Mordelia snatches the passport from my hand, yanks the door open and pushes me out, “Let’s go.”

In the car, Dev is tapping the steering wheel in a crazy rhythm, and Mordelia is running through possible scenarios about what happened to Simon. “Maybe they haven’t gotten far,” she says. “Maybe they just want to talk to him…”

I’m staring out the window.

“What is it, Baz?” Dev finally turns to me. “What’s going on? Out with it.”

“I don’t know. What if Simon doesn’t want me involved in this?”

“Who cares?” Dev almost yells at me, throwing up his hands. “What if you never see him again?! Don’t you want to do everything possible to make sure he’s ok?”

“Of course, I want him ok. I want to know he’s safe. But…I’ll just get an update from Bunce when she has one.” I put my head in my hands and desperately try to calm my breathing.

Mordelia leans in from the backseat and puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. I look up and see her narrow her eyes. (She learned that from me.) “Get over it, Baz.”

“Maybe I can’t!” I say, yelling too now and pushing Mordelia’s hand aside. “Maybe this is it. I care but I don’t care that much.”

“Crowley, Baz. When I said to move on, I didn’t mean wall yourself off from your own heart,” Dev says.

“That’s not what this is. Yeah, it was good between me and Snow for a while, but I don’t feel anything for him anymore. I have no business trying to save Snow. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed or… surprised. Though I don’t know why you would be. You all are trying to make something out of me that I’m not. I am a vampire. I have no soul. When it’s time to move on, I move on. It’s probably a vampire trait that comes in handy when you outlive everyone you know.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Mordelia is crying now. “Fuck you, Baz. You’re my brother, and you owe me more than that.”

We all quiet down after that. I mumble an apology.

We keep driving to Heathrow Airport in silence. At some point, Dev says, “You’ll regret it if you don’t get on that plane.” I say nothing.

Sunday is Heathrow’s busiest day. We crawl through traffic, and Dev finally pulls up to the curb to get my luggage out. He and Mordelia stand against the car, and I’m standing with my suitcase, refusing to look them in the eye. I could just walk around the side to the taxi stand and get home before dinner.

"He doesn't want to see me." I can't look at them. I know it's my own fault. "Simon...he doesn't want me there. When I've called, when I write to him...he never..." I throw my hands up and shake my head trying to hold down a sob.

“Baz, that was because I asked him to,” Dev says. He looks at his hands. "I'm sorry... I thought...you were so... I told Simon to stop talking to you because I thought it was unfair of him to keep you holding on when it seemed he was unavailable. The call you made about his mother...I talked to him before and told him what to say and not to say. I'm sorry, I think I made a mistake."

“You what? I ...I don't know what to say to that..." I'm at a loss, I'm on an edge. There's too much to sort through. Dev, damn him, looks apologetic for a grand total of one minute then he flexes his jaw at me and gets that stern big brother look I hate.

“Close your eyes for a minute. Just do it. …Crowley, you don’t have to fight me on everything. That’s what Simon’s for.”

I roll my eyes and then give in. I close my eyes, crossing my arms in front of me.

“Ok, now think of Simon. Just picture him. Imagine that you just found him, saved him or whatever from the kidnappers.”

I picture Simon. It’s easy for me. I won’t admit it out loud anymore, but his face is always there in the corner of my mind. Blue eyes, hair flopping everywhere, mouth open in a half smile. My shoulders loosen at that image. I oblige Dev, and think of Simon after we presumably find him. Maybe like me when the Numpties kidnapped me, he’ll be nearly unconscious, lying prone and shaking. I put a blanket around him and lift him to carry him out. I see bruises on his face, above his eye and masking the moles on his cheek. He opens his eyes at me briefly and smiles weakly. I have him now, he’s safe, and I gently push his curls out of his face. I feel his body, a familiar warmth against my chest, but I know he must be frail after… after…

Tears run down my cheeks and I open my eyes. “Crowley, Dev, what if he’s really hurt?”

Dev smiles and hugs me and Mordelia puts her arms around both of us. I would normally protest this much public affection, plus I am officially pissed at Dev -- but I lean into them instead. I feel weak.

“When I was searching for you, when you were kidnapped, I kept thinking of what it would be like to bring you home finally,” Dev says. “You have to keep your eye on the goal, Baz.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, Dev. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.”

“Why do you think Penny asked you to help, Baz?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m a powerful magician?”

“Oh please,” Mordelia says, rolling her eyes. “You’re not that great. And Penny’s mum can summon magicians way more powerful – she probably already has.”

“Try again,” Dev says.

I look at them both. “Because she knows I won’t give up. …Because I love him.”


	14. Where is he?

PENNY  
Baz and I are interviewing Namita about when she last saw Simon. I want to hate her for getting between Baz and Simon, but she is calm and witty even while she’s worried, and I can see why Simon likes her. Plus, I know she didn’t exactly get between them.

“Simon likes to sneak out to the street food vendors when he thinks no one is looking,” Namita explains. “I usually see him out of the corner of my eye. He eats at the street vendors more than you’d think. Or, actually, you two would probably know. Haha.”

“Yeah, that’s really cute, but we’re trying to find kidnappers here,” Baz says, glaring. “Did you notice strange men hanging out around here? Did Snow say anything about being followed? When did you first notice him missing?”

“I did not notice anything stranger than usual. You see how busy this street is, Basilton. Like I said, I saw Simon walk out to a food cart down the street around 4pm, and then I didn’t see him again.”

Baz sneers, “And you didn’t try to call him when he didn’t return? When did you even notice he was missing? You didn’t stop by his place?”

“Why would I do that? I figured he must have a reason to take off. I don’t keep tabs on him.”

“Some girlfriend you are!”

“Baz!” I shout at him. Namita gives me a look, and I explain to Baz, “They broke up about a month ago.”

“Oh.”

Half the international investigation team plus my mum’s counterpart from Johannesburg has descended on Mumbai. They all have their tasks between managing the local police, reaching out to various embassies, and researching everything they can on the Mage’s old associate from South Africa, Karl Cohen. They assumed interviewing a Normal like Namita was low on the list of priorities.

Baz was going crazy with the process and size of the investigation. I filled him in as much as possible in the plane, but I strategically left some details out. I figured Simon would want to be the one to tell Baz that the Mage was his father. When we find Simon. All Baz knows now is the Mage had struck deals with powerful people around the world to find a way to produce another mage like Simon. He’s seen the profiles of all the men we know about so far.

For the first day we were here – yesterday – Baz and I did what we were asked. At some point today, though, Baz slammed shut the portfolio with the profiles and started pacing. “We have to just get out there, Penny! This isn’t a research project. The longer we wait here, the more time they have to hurt Simon…” I looked at him fuming and pacing, and was glad I had thought to bring him with me.

We decided to go back to the last place Simon was seen – his office. Baz wants to use the finding spells Fiona used to rescue him from the Numpties to track Simon. But as soon as we were on the road, we realized how much more difficult that would be in Mumbai which is four times as dense as London, and full of tiny alleys and nooks. We need to narrow the search.

“Look, you’re asking the wrong questions,” Namita says when Baz and I run out of questions. “If you want to disappear in Mumbai, the best place to go is Dharavi. The police know that, but they’re going to make your investigators go through a hundred bureaucratic hoops to get that information.”

“What’s Dharavi?”

“A slum that’s the size of a large town in the middle of the city. I can show you.”

“Let’s go.”

 

BAZ  
Damn Simon and his unassailable taste in lovers. Namita is driving her tiny car and cursing out the window at people blocking the road, which seems to be everyone and his mother. How does anything get done in this city?

Just when I thought the traffic couldn’t get worse, we roll into a section of the city where you can’t see the pavement for all the rickshaws, cars, bikes, animals, and sandals beating down on it. It is crowded on both sides with buildings made of corrugated tin or water-stained concrete. There are mostly two-to-four-storied buildings, with floors stacked on each other like building blocks that may slide off at any minute. I see stores selling jeans, food, car parts, electronics, and everything in between, I stare into what looks like a three-floor, narrow residential home, but see people hunched over sewing machines – it’s actually a small textile factory, Namita explains. I would need a week to properly search this place, even with the strongest finding spell.

“Dharavi is a technically considered slum. Hundreds of thousands live here, but it’s also where people work. Every kind of manufacturing happens here,” Namita explains. “Every kind of transaction happens here too – above and below the table.”

She takes us deeper into Dharavi, away from the traffic to more residential parts. We park the car at a broken bit of curb, and jump out. Namita turns to us. I’m in loose linens and a broad-rimmed hat to avoid the sun, feeling awkward outside of my usual gray and black. Penny is just wearing jeans, but her purple hair is humongous in the humidity. Namita eyes us wearily and says, “Try to look…inconspicuous. If that’s even possible.”

She disappears into a home for several long minutes. When she comes back out, she waves us to an alley to our right.

“My contact said she heard something about foreigners renting a flat for an absurd amount of money down this way. The only reasons foreigners choose to be in this neighborhood are bad ones. Let’s walk; it’ll be less conspicuous.”

After a few minutes’ walk, we get close to a squat pea-green building. “Wait,” Namita says. “We can’t just walk in and ask the receptionist to fetch Simon. What are you going to do when you get there? We don’t have any weapons or anything.”

“We need to know if he’s even in there. And where he is,” Penny says. “Don’t worry about weapons. Once we’re inside and find Simon, Baz and I will take care of everything.”

Namita looks at us like she can guess exactly what that means, though wands and spells are probably not the weapons she has in mind. Namita says she has an idea – damn her for her ingenuity! – and she approaches a woman with thick, deeply lined skin. She’s carrying what looks like a broom made of reeds, and her sari is pulled up to her knees and tied across her waste. I’ve never seen such a tough-looking woman.

Namita comes back. “I asked her to go into the building and explain that she’s been called to clean the floors. She’s a maid for lots of places around here. If they tell her no, I told her to make a big fuss that she needs the money and she’s good at sweeping floors. Trust me, foreigners will have a hard time turning her away. I promised her a very generous tip when she reports to us what she sees inside.”

“What if they hurt her?” Penny asks.

“I doubt it,” Namita says. “As soon as she starts to clean, they’ll stop noticing her or which rooms she’s slipping into.”

We hang out for a half hour in a side alley. We drink strong, milky chai. Bunce makes small talk with Namita, and I stay quiet. As I watch Namita fiddle with a teaspoon, I think about how quickly I’ve put myself in the center of Simon’s life again. It frightens me a little that only three days ago I had convinced myself that Simon was firmly in my past. How long will it take to really shake him off?

Finally, the woman comes back out of the green building, walks down the street to Namita and reports to her in Hindi (I assume). Namita nods and takes a breath. “He’s there. She said she saw a white man with straw-colored hair and moles on his cheek, just as I had described,” Namita says. Damn her too for noticing his moles. “Simon’s on the top floor. He didn’t look in bad shape to her, but she said he was asleep on a table. I’m not sure what that means. There are four large men in the outside rooms, and a fifth who is in the room with Simon. The one in the room is small, petite. The woman said she could take him on if she had to.”

Penny and I look at each other – we know size means nothing for magicians. Whoever is closest to Simon is going to be the hard one to beat. Namita pays the woman, and we tell Namita to bring the car around and she jogs back toward the car.

Penny and I walk down the alley to look for a back entrance to the green building. We find a rusting ladder built into the side and climb up to the top floor. We inch up to the side of a small window and look inside. No one is there so I melt the glass with a fire I conjure in my palm. We’re in.

 

PENNY  
The window leads us into a cramped, crusty bathroom with a stench that hits my nose and stomach. We move quickly out to the hallway, where we see two doors to our left. Baz is right behind me as I swing open the first door and point my wand into emptiness. Then I rush to the next door. This must be it.

I swing the door open hard, still pointing my wand. I see a strange small man with wispy white hair and thick glasses pointing his wand at me. **“Head over heels!”** I cry. At the same time, the man has said a spell in a language I don’t understand.

My spell hits hard, and the man is knocked out in the corner. I look to the side and see Simon strapped to a rusting metal table. The room is empty except for him, the metal table, and a monitor he’s hooked up to that reads out vital signs plus other measurements I can’t make out. He’s completely unconscious, hopefully just sedated. Baz wastes no time and moves toward Simon, but he slams against some kind of barrier in the air. That must’ve been the spell the South African said as I knocked him out – there’s an invisible wall between us and Simon (and the man passed out on the floor). Baz grunts and pushes, he tries to walk around the invisible barrier, but it appears to run wall-to-wall. Baz throws a flame at it, but the flame just burns out.

“He probably said the spell in Afrikaans,” I say, panicking. “We have to counter it in Afrikaans! Or maybe it’s Zulu! Shit, Baz…”

The other men will probably find us before we can figure this out. I pull out my phone to try to learn Afrikaans on the fly.

Baz says, “Yes, to defend against a spell, it has to be in the same language. But offensive spells can be in any language.”

“Baz, we don’t have time for a sonnet!”

He pulls out his wand and bellows, **“Love conquers all!”** A powerful spell only when the love is true. It also drains everything from you, and Baz should be on his knees from performing such a spell. Instead, Baz walks across to Simon, unstraps him and lifts him up. “Let’s go.”


	15. In my arms again

BAZ  
This is the first time in more than one and a half years that I’m holding Simon. It’s all I can do not to kneel on the floor and embrace him completely. But we have to get out of here. Exiting down the ladder out the back would be less conspicuous, but the man Penny knocked to the floor is moaning. We have to move fast, so we head to the stairs.

We’re running down the narrow, uneven stairs, with Penny in front. We meet two men at the landing. Penny aims spells at them and hits hard. We keep going to the ground floor, but we hear others behind us. I shift Simon, who is still limp, to put him over my shoulder, one arm across his legs, and use my free hand to point my wand “Up in flames!” 

It’s actually not a powerful spell, but it does the trick. Flames rise up like a wall and stop all the men coming after us. The flames are already going out within a minute, but it’s enough for us to get to the car. Penny gets in the front, I throw Simon in the back and jump in with him. Namita takes off as soon as she hears me scream “Go!” and before I even close the door. There’s too much traffic to go fast, but she turns into 20 different narrow alleys until it’s impossible to tell which way we came from.

Simon is slumped against the window and I pull him up to my shoulder and put an arm around him. He finally opens his eyes, looks at me, knots his eyebrows in confusion and then closes them again. I squeeze him tight to me, and brush his curls from his face.

 

SIMON  
I have to tell someone. I have to tell someone. Who is this? Penny? Yes, of course, Penny. I can tell her. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Then Baz and Namita walk in together. Is this a dream? Damn. I keep dreaming of Baz. Dreaming is no good. I have to tell someone for real. I’ll close my eyes and when I wake up, it’ll be real.

When I do wake up again, Penny is next to me again.

“Penny.”

“Simon!”

“Penny, that gang, those men,” I choke out. “There was a woman.”

“What? We didn’t find any woman.” Baz and Namita walk in again.

“Baz? Namita? What are you doing here? Penny, am I dreaming? I have to wake up. There’s a woman in trouble.”

“No, Simon. This is real – Baz and Namita saved you,” Penny says to me.

I go silent for a moment, and then whisper, “Baz! Really?”

Baz comes to my side and holds my hand. I see tears in his eyes and I realize I’m crying too.

I smile at Namita finally. Then I squeeze my eyes and shake my head. “There was a woman. When I first got there, I think, they brought her to the room I was in. They ran some tests on us together. Something they wanted to compare between us. They drugged me soon after. I can’t remember much. But Penny, I think she was pregnant.”

Penny finally understands what I’m trying to say. “Oh no, Simon.”

“Penny, we have to find her.”

“But, Simon, we sent half the investigation team to the building where we found you, as soon as we got you out of there. They found nothing. Everything was cleared out.”

 

PENNY  
Actually, my mum was pretty pissed. If we had followed protocol, she said, they would have seized the whole building, the men, the equipment and whatever else was there. I yelled back that if we followed protocol, we wouldn’t have found Simon for days if not weeks. We were lucky – Simon had only been heavily sedated thus far. Merlin knows what they would’ve done to him as they progressed in testing his body.

Simon is discharged from the hospital the next day in good shape. We try to give Namita a plausible story; there’s no way she buys it, (“Did I see flames in there?” she asked Baz as she drove away from the building) but she must know we can’t say anything more so she doesn’t ask. Simon shrugs and tells us Namita has seen some crazy things, and nothing fazes her. She tells Simon to rest, and says goodbye to us all at the hospital. We tell Simon to stay with us at the hotel, but he wants me and Baz to stay with him at his little flat, like we’re all on vacation.

That night, we’re all in good spirits; rescuing Simon has made us feel invincible. Simon takes us out to a pub and a great restaurant in South Mumbai and then we walk along the sea wall. We get home just after sunset, but I am beat. The guys tell me to take Simon’s bed, and Simon is making his bed out of linens and blankets on the floor next to the couch where Baz will sleep. I get in bed and am asleep right away. I know neither Baz nor Simon is going to sleep much at all tonight.


	16. A moment alone

BAZ  
The sun stings pretty bad here, but I like how warm I feel through and through. I like how the sunlight here lights up Simon’s face and eyes. I like how the breeze from the ceiling fan is softly rustling his hair. I like everything right now.

“Simon, do that later,” I say to him as he’s fussing with the linens. “Come sit with me for a while.”

He sits on the other end of the sofa with me. I don’t have any expectations, but I just want to let him know what I’m feeling.

“I am glad you’re okay, Simon,” I say. I drop my hand on the sofa between us. Simon looks at it and puts his hand in mine. It feels like he’s opening my heart with his warm fingers pushing between mine. We sit like that for a while, holding hands, looking at each other.

“There’s something I have to tell you, Baz,” Simon says after a few minutes. “The Mage, he was my father. …He created me. I mean, that’s what a father is, I know. But, I mean, he used dark magic after he and my mother conceived me to make me into what I am – or was – to make me super powerful.”

“Crowley, Simon,” I say after a few minutes trying to sort what that means. “I’m so sorry.” I think back to the way the Mage had attacked Simon almost six years ago now in the Watford White Chapel. How can a father do that?

Simon gets up and takes papers out of a desk.

“Mitali shared my father’s journals with me a few years ago.” Simon glances at me and looks away. “About a year before I left London, actually.”

He shows me the journals, and reads some passages to me. He tells me what it was like when he first read through these pages. “I unraveled a bit,” he says. “I thought …I thought if I belonged to the Mage, then I must be what he made me. I thought, since I lost my magic, then there must not be much else to me, since my whole purpose was to wield magic.

“I was angry and depressed… and scared to shit. What he did to me – what he did to my mum – I don’t understand it all. I don’t know if it fucked up other parts of me, if… I don’t know. Mitali had me tested, and they didn’t find anything, but you never know with something so dark.”

I remember Simon going into a funk a while ago, but after he lost his magic it wasn’t unusual for him to fall into a depression from time to time. I didn’t think any one bad moment was different from the others – Penny and I would just try to comfort him and listen.

I pull him into my arms now. I can’t stand that he must have been – must still be – heartbroken as he tried to understand what that lunatic was doing. I press a kiss into his forehead. Simon slowly puts his arm around my belly to my side. My heartbeat quickens. I only intend to comfort him, but I can’t help but swoon. Just a little.

He pulls away after several minutes, and takes up another sheaf of papers. It’s the letter from the man I ran into in London. Simon reads some of it to me. “Baz, what if my father hurt my mother? This man says his wife survived the pregnancy. What if my father ended my mother’s life through neglect or…worse? She came through the Veil to look for me and then wouldn’t go back. What if she was just as stubborn in life, trying to get me back from the children’s home, and he didn’t like it?”

I can tell he’s been waiting to say these things aloud. It must have been weighing on him for some time. “I’m sorry, Simon. I wish I could help you find an answer about your mum.”

I clear my throat and kiss his forehead again. “I can give you an answer about you, though. You’re not what your father made you. When you were powerful, you were the most conscientious magician I knew. I – I drew comfort from knowing you’d always do the right thing. I still do.”

He leans against me again, and I go still so I can hear his every breath and pulse. “I’m sorry I was so short with you when you called about my mum. It meant so much that you called,” he says, like it even matters now.

Simon gets up and puts away the papers. He perches on the desk. “You know the most surprising thing about India has been how similar things are,” Simon says.

I laugh, “You could fool me.”

“No, I mean, the people – adults and children – I’ve met who’ve grown up in children’s homes, they talk about the same things. They worry there’s something essential they don’t know about themselves. They – we – worry we’ll never be whole.”

He looks down at his hands. “Namita also grew up in children’s homes.”

“Oh…She is really great, Simon. You know how to pick them,” I grin. “…I’m sorry to hear you broke up.”

“Thanks. She has been a good …friend. ….You, too, you know, Baz. You’re also like that.”

“Like what?”

“I think about this a lot. You once said we match. And we do. There’s something about my origins that is dark and it makes me worry that there is something really wrong with me.”

I swallow. Leave it to Snow to bring up uncomfortable topics with no warning.

“There _is_ something wrong with me,” I say, staring at him unblinking. “I’m still a vampire, you know. I worry I don’t have enough to offer – not enough life – not enough of a soul – for anyone. I worry that love is not for me.”

I bark out a shaky laugh and rub my eyes a bit.

“I’ve been dating a different man almost every week for months now, and I’m terrified that it’s never going to be more than that for me again.”

Crowley, what is it about Snow that I reveal myself so easily? He’s quiet for too long and I’m embarrassed and can’t look at him. Then he laughs.

“Knock it off, Snow.”

“What? Baz! No, look at me.” He pushes away from the desk and crouches in front of me, taking my hands in his, smiling so easily. “Every gay and bi man in London would line up to be with you if you let someone in. I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world that you let me so close. You have to know by now that you were not the problem in this relationship.”

“You weren’t the problem either.”

“For me, I was the problem. I was a big problem. …Baz, what you’re saying is true for me too – I mean, I’m not sleeping with a new man each week, but the part where I feel like no one will want what I really am.”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that first part, about the men…” I smile sheepishly at Simon, who’s now sitting on the floor on his made-up bed.

“Oh, I already knew,” Simon smiles a little wickedly. “I’m still in touch with Sarah.”

“Sarah? My neighbor in 42B?! Crowley, do you ever stop trying to dig up dirt on me?” I say, rolling my eyes.

“She’s told me some interesting stories. I have to say, I’m a little jealous – of all those men and you.”

We talk for hours more, until we’re both slurring words and can’t fight off sleep anymore. Maybe this is it. Maybe every few years, I get to be close to Simon again as friends and confidantes. Maybe it’s enough because I feel lighter than I have in a long time.

 

SIMON  
Penny and Baz are with me for two more days. I show them more of the city and then I take them to the club – the one with writing on the walls and plastic chairs, started by people who grew up in foster homes. It’s a far cry from Baz’s family’s club, with it’s crumbling walls and dusty railings. But I am beaming as I show them the club. I can tell Penny and Baz don’t quite get it. It’s ok, though. The next day I drive them out to one of the villages where I’ve been helping one of the really great children’s home start a small computer lab for their kids, and that totally impresses Baz and Penny. I’ll take that.

We stop off along the way back to Mumbai at a beautiful lake I like to visit on my trips. And I take them to the streetside cafe I usually eat at when I’m here. I feel like a child and want to share everything with them.

“You guys are like my family, you know,” I say over lunch.

“No, Simon, we are your family,” Penny corrects me happily.

“What you’re doing here is amazing, Simon,” Baz says to me.

I smile so hard it hurts my cheeks.

Penny sighs. “Simon, you can’t stay for much longer. I’m sorry, but it looks like your location is common knowledge now. The investigation team will provide security for a couple of months so we can figure out what to do next, but you have to move. London may not be a good option either, given how quickly Aliyev found you there.”

I sigh, “I guess I kind of knew that. Well, bring it on. After this, after all this, I can do anything, anywhere.”

We head back to the city. Baz and Penny will be flying out tomorrow evening. Penny says she’s going to the hotel to pack and will see us in the morning.

Baz and I turn in early, wanting an early start for his last day here. I get in my bed now that Penny’s gone, and Baz lays out on the sofa again. An hour later, I’m still wide-awake with Baz’s face floating in front of my eyes. A year and a half of aching for Baz is now welling up inside me.

“Baz?” I call out softly through the open bedroom door. I can’t see him and don’t know if he’s awake.

But he answers me right away. “Simon?”

I don’t know what to say so I get up and go to the sofa. He’s laying on his back and turns to face me. I slowly sit on my heels on the floor in front of him. There’s a sliver of moonlight on his face. I put a hand on his cheek, and he puts his hand over mine and turns to kiss my palm. I move closer, running my hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and I look at every line and angle of his face. He opens his eyes again, holds my gaze, and slowly lowers himself to sit on the floor just to the side of me so our thighs touch. He reaches out and puts a couple of fingers lightly at the edge of my face and gently draws me toward him. He kisses me softly. So softly. My heart is beating in my ears. Then he pulls back and looks searchingly at me.

I get up on my feet and take Baz’s hands in both of mine to pull him up with me. I look down at his hands in mine, so soft and dry at the same time, and I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me. Before I can say or do anything, Baz is circling his arms around me. He kisses me deeply and I open my mouth against his. And then he walks me backward, still kissing me and holding me, into my bedroom.

 

BAZ  
I look at my cheap mobile phone on the table next to Simon’s bed. It’s past noon, and I should get to the hotel. I need to pack still. Then I turn and look at Simon stretched out completely naked above the covers, his chest rising and falling with his slumber, looking bright and beautiful in the sunlight. We took our time with each other last night, and then we woke up several hours later while it was still dark outside and reached for each other again. I trace my finger from the mole on his shoulder, to the one on his lower rib, to the one on his hip, and my breath catches watching him harden. When I look up from his hip, Simon is awake and looking back at me.

“There’s nothing in the world like being with you,” he says softly, and he puts a hand behind my neck. I pull him toward me at his hip, and we press into each other. I kiss him and roll on top of him. I take him slowly inside me, and he digs his fingers into the small of my back as he cries out. Then he gently turns me so I’m under him, and Simon kisses me, flicks his tongue down my chest to my abdomen and takes me into his mouth. I say his name again and again.

A couple of hours later, I sit and rise up from the bed. I shower quickly. When I come back out, Simon is dressed and sitting on the sofa. He looks expectant, and I can see a question forming in his eyes. But I can’t return the look.

“Time for me to go,” I say, pushing his hair back from his forehead. He smiles gently and says he’d like to drop off me and Penny at the airport.


	17. Back to the routine, but different

PENNY  
Simon’s attention is often divided when we’re on Skype. Maybe he thinks as long as it’s on and he’s within shouting distance, it counts. I can only see a sliver of his nose, his eyes and a few locks of his hair. It’s been two months since the kidnapping. It's time for Simon to move and get off of the radar -- who's got him on their radar, we still don't know.  

Simon decided bronze curls made him stand out too easily. I am still getting used to his close-cropped, black hair. He is looking off to the right and grinning at someone who’s talking in a Mumbai accent.

“Simon! Did you hear me?” I ask.

“Yeah! Yeah, I get it,” he says impatiently. I know he’s only thinking about the party he’s about to go to, his farewell party.

“Alright, well, Navin knows the spell in any case. Simon – Simon! I’m getting off.”

“Sorry, Penny,” Simon says, while simultaneously greeting yet another person at his door. “Don’t worry. I talked to Navin, and I know what to do. I’ll call when I get on the plane.”

“No! Simon!”

“Sorry, sorry. No calls from the airport. I’ll call when I get to Co—“

“Simon! Don’t say it!”

“Ok, ok. Good night, Penny!”

“Good night. And don’t drink too much. It’s hard enough getting you to keep your mouth shut.”

“And good night to Dev, too,” Simon says, suddenly looking right at me and grinning. I turn pink, and Simon cuts out before I can think of something to say.

I moved into a flat in London again, working at a corporation and for the Coven at the same time. Breaking up with Micah was like a firework. Bright, loud and painful, but surprisingly quick with just a wisp of its memory lingering. I know I'm supposed to prefer this. I don't want drama or an angst-filled lengthy break-up, but if it's over so easily, I wonder if it ever meant anything at all. I don't envy Baz and Simon their ongoing heartache, but I do wonder if I'm supposed to feel something else. 

“Was that Simon?” Dev gets back to the flat just as I shut the laptop.

“Yeah. I’m nervous. He flies out tomorrow.” I can’t tell Dev where Simon is going, and Dev knows not to ask. Navin and I devised a spell to make sure no one follows Simon. Plus we bought five tickets around the world under his name.

“Well, I’m sure if you’re on it, he’ll be perfectly safe.”

I get two spoons for us from the kitchen. I don’t know how Simon guessed Dev was here; I waited to Skype until Dev left to get us ice cream. Besides, it’s fine if Simon figured it out. I’m not hiding anything. Dev and I were texting all day, and finally I told him to just come over for dinner so we could have an actual conversation. When Dev stepped out to get us dessert, I called Simon. So what if Simon knew Dev was here?

“Simon colored his hair black to blend in better,” I tell Dev, settling next to him on the sofa and digging into the ice cream carton. “I am kinda pissed it looks so good on him. I’ve tried every color ever and they all look like crap.”

“No way. I loved your blue hair!”

“Oh, that was the worst. The spell accidentally got under my nails and my hands looked like I had stitched them on from a corpse. Simon called me Frankenstein for a week.”

“The green, though. That was inspired. Especially I remember you wore that white dress to the Watford Spring Equinox Gala our seventh year. The green hair went nicely with that dress.”

“I looked like a tree!” I laugh and he smiles. I catch his eye. “You remember that dress?”

“Yeah, of course. That was a great night,” Dev says through a mouthful of ice cream. “That was the first time ever I danced at a party.”

“That was a good night. You’ll have to show me some of those dance moves again.” What the hell? Did I just wiggle my eyebrows at him? I don’t flirt. Damn Simon.

Dev kind of freezes up and clears his throat. We look at each other for an unbearably long second, then both of us shove a large spoonful of ice cream into our mouths.

 

BAZ  
I was surprised how it felt to be back in London after the intense days in Mumbai. For the first time, I felt like I was at home here. Since I moved here after Watford, London has been either just a backdrop to ignore or a source of fantastic consumption – the pricey restaurants, the expensive clothing stores, the endless run of beautiful men. When Simon was here, I barely noticed the city, and when he left, I busied myself trying to use the city. Now, suddenly, it is a place for me to grow and learn and discover. I quit my job. Now, I explore a new neighborhood by foot every week and spend as much time outdoors as I can and visit my family at least monthly and play my violin every day. I’m taking a ballroom dancing class. I cook dinner for Dev, Niall and Penny often, and I’m reading Greek, Italian, and French (and English) novels and poetry again. Since Simon moved to Colombia (of course, I know where he is), I’ve started teaching myself Spanish.

I joined a neighborhood co-ed football team, and I love the competitive friendliness of the group. We play hard – I’ve been injured a couple of times already – then we go to the pub.

Niall, Penny and Dev come out to the pub after my games sometimes (I tried but failed to convince them to come out to the game itself. “What would we do at the game?” Niall asked. Some minion he is.) One night, Niall is shamelessly flirting with Elisa, one of the women on our team. When she breaks away from Niall, she says to me, “Baz, Niall was telling me you’re a fan of French literature.” Niall probably didn’t call me a fan, he probably called me a nerd, but close enough.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why?”

“My publishing house is hiring a translator. Would you be interested?”

“Hell yeah!”


	18. Why do they always put it on the young ones?

PENNY  
It is a miracle my mum can find space to walk into her office, much less work in it. I have been combing through her office. So far I’ve found almost 100 books, a stack of un-opened (and un-important) letters, a flurry of post-its, more coffee mugs than I thought existed in all of Watford, and dozens of little arts and crafts pieces tucked into random corners. That’s what I’ve found in addition to what my mum already knows and has inventoried in her office. Among these things, we’re hoping to finally find the source of the leak on Simon.

I am not so hopeful, though. I’m working with Craig, who’s on my mum’s computer trying to look for a digital breach, again. I’m the only one she trusts to go through the physical office, piled high with papers and maps and electronic devices and magickal charms. I’m trying to extract the stuff that either isn’t hers or she doesn’t recognize. It’s nice spending time with her and having a chance to talk.

“Ma, do you know what this is?” I ask, holding up a purple glass sphere with a silver center that is moving and changing shapes.

“I don’t know. What?”

“I’m not asking a riddle. Do you know what this is?”

“No. Maybe the Mage left it.”

“You cleared out his stuff six years ago. And there’s a tag on it that says, “To: Mitali Bunce””

“Oh, right, right…Yeah, I don’t know, Penny.”

I growl in frustration. Not just with mum, but the whole process. In the six months since Simon was kidnapped, we’ve gone down every possible path of where the leak is coming from. We’ve gone through every computer at Watford, the school in Mumbai, and a few other places. We’ve found nothing. Two weeks ago, the Mage’s old associate from Argentina showed up in Mumbai with a small gang and threatened Navin. Thankfully, Navin had them subdued and captured quickly. Simon’s new location hasn’t been leaked yet, but the trickle of power-hungry Mage-wannabes is not slowing. Last count, we had captured six and 11 remain. That’s assuming we finally know all the crazies out there. We want to make sure no one finds out Simon is in Colombia. Finally, mum insisted we comb through her Watford office for bugs – the magickal kind. I have to take time from my day job for this, but I remind myself that Simon’s safety is at stake.

By the afternoon, my hair is a frizzy mess, popping out of its ponytail. I’m sitting on the floor in front of my mum’s desk, and I’ve got a pile of knick-knacks and paper of all shapes and sizes in front of me that I’m trying to catalogue. I don’t know any longer what to call any of it besides ‘junk’. I don’t think any of them are charmed to siphon data or record conversations. Craig is napping on the keyboard and I can hear a soft snore behind me. Mum left for a faculty meeting. My neck and back are stiff so I take a cue from Craig and lie down where I am, putting my head down under my mum’s desk with my legs sticking out, and stretch a little.

As if he knows I’m feeling tense, Dev calls.

“Hi, Penny. What are you up to?”

Merlin, when did his voice get that deep? I remind myself I’m not the kind of girl who swoons over a husky voice.

“I am staring at the underside of my mother’s desk.”

“What? Oh, are you busy?”

“No, no. Tired. But not too tired. What’s up?”

“I was – ahem – calling because…Are you busy this weekend? I have tickets to a play this weekend. It’s called _A Comedy About a Bank Robbery_.”

“Oh shit!”

“Um…if you’re busy, that’s cool. I mean, it’s supposed to be really good. But if you’re busy…”

“What? No, Dev. I found something.”

“What?”

“I’ve been looking for some kind of magickal bugging device all over my mum’s office, and…shit. What the hell is this?”

“What are you looking at?”

“Hmm? …It looks a like a coin made of some very black and very shiny metal, and I can barely make out an etching.”

“What kind of etching?”

“A creature with giant eyes and a wicked grin…I think it’s a gargoyle. …The coin is definitely magickal. Ooo…when I touch it, it feels cold and electric. It feels like there must be a dozen super powerful spells on it. The magic – it feels familiar, but not entirely. It’s stuck to the underside of my mum’s desk, like a magnet. Let me try to pull it off…”

“No! Penny, leave it!”

“What? I just have to check if this is the bug we’ve been hunting for. This may….”

“No, Penny. Don’t move it. They’ll know right away and you’ll never be able to trace it back to…”

“Trace it back to whom? …Dev? How do you know what’ll happen if I try to pull this off?”

“Penny… I’m sorry, but that coin, it sounds like – it sounds like it came from the House of Grimm. My parents have trained me on special charms and magickal devices that belong to our family.”

“Dev, that means…that means….”

“That means, someone in our family is bugging your mum’s office for information on Simon.”

 

DEV  
Neither Baz nor Penny ever told me much about who came after Simon or what they wanted, just that they were dangerous and had some old accounts to settle with the Mage. After the kidnapping, Simon had to disappear and I understood that part of the reason was that someone had confidential information on him. The Mage just won’t seem to fade; even in death he is a menace. I don’t understand why our family would be spying on Mitali Bunce or still be involved with Simon. Baz and I have been adamant that our generation has no interest in carrying on old grudges, especially if there is no imminent threat like the Mage.

It would be my luck that I finally get the nerve to ask Penny out on a real date, and now there’s no way to wrest the conversation away from a new crisis. She’s talking a mile a minute and I’ve lost track of her chain of thought. I really want to be able to keep up with her, maybe even impress her once.

“Dev, I shouldn’t have told you any of this. If any of your family is involved in any way, it would compromise the investigation to have you know about this.”

“I’m the one who just told you what that coin is. I told you to leave it in place, for Merlin’s sake! If you had moved it, the coin would’ve turned into a worthless scrap of metal and you would never have been able to figure out what it was. If I had anything to do with this, do you think I would’ve told you?”

“Still, Dev. When we figure out who planted this, you may be less willing to be cooperative. It’s better if…”

“Let me help, Penny,” I say. “When Simon is in trouble, it usually means that Baz gets pulled in. And you’re right about them, there’s no keeping them apart for long. I want to help make sure they’re safe. …I want to make sure _you_ are safe.”

She goes quiet. There’s nothing more I can say; my heart is in my throat now.

Finally she says, “Mordelia.”

Not what I was expecting. “What?”

“Mordelia. It must have been Mordelia. My mum would have met with any elder from your family at the Coven or in a meeting room, and there are a hundred wards on this office to keep out anyone uninvited. But she would’ve happily invited a student to meet in her office. She likes making students feel like they can come to her for anything. I have to find her…”

I’m not sure if she means she has to find Mordelia or her mum, but I’m now panicking.

“Penny, please, just wait. Just… Baz and I will be there by tonight. Just give us a few hours to get there. I promise, we don’t want to thwart the investigation. I can’t let Mordelia face this alone. I won’t tell anyone else. Please, Penny. Just a few hours. You can do whatever you like after, just give me a few hours…please. Mordelia is so young….I remember being like her, feeling so much pressure from our families…please, Penny... I won’t tell anyone else. You can call Baz, if you don’t trust me.”

“I trust you, Dev,” Penny sighs heavily. “Just get here. I won’t wait long.”


	19. Simon and Baz out of the loop

BAZ  
I have never felt so nervous. This is not what I thought translating novels and poetry would be like. When Elisa from my football team helped me get a job as a translator for a publishing house, I thought I’d just sit in a sunlit room, drinking a giant cappuccino, chewing on a pen and finding the perfect English words for whatever clever passage was in front of me. This is more like the meetings at the bank. There are a half-dozen men and women in dark suits around the table, plus the poet, who is wearing a loose cotton shirt the color of the sky, stretched haphazardly to the side, so I can see his collar bone and just a bit of dark chest hair. His ponytail reaches past his shoulders. He has a young face with no wrinkles, but he has quite a lot of gray hair. His green eyes twinkle and he’s smiling warmly, but his words are stern and no one dares to interrupt.

We’re all speaking in Greek.

“I don’t want some uhh….textbook translation of my poems,” he says to everyone but me. His name is Caden Hanno. I’m going to be doing the translation, but I do look the youngest, so I try not to be bothered that he won’t even look me in the eye. I’ve never been completely ignored like this.

“You have to understand the poems to be able to translate them. The translator must know what pain and love and hate and death and joy and all the shit in between really feel like. This is not some uhhh… 16-year-old kid’s love letters to his girlfriend.”

I swallow. My boss and her boss take over the conversation, assuring Hanno that I’m a great translator (they don’t mention I’m completely inexperienced) and that they will be involved in the process, and, of course, no word will be finalized without Hanno’s approval. Hanno doesn’t seem convinced, but his agent, sitting next to him, gives a flat, prim smile and whispers something to the poet. Eventually, we agree on the details of the project and how we’ll get Hanno’s input through the process. He is going to be breathing down my throat the whole time, essentially.

I get back to my desk, feeling beat. I look at my phone and see a dozen missed calls and texts from Dev and Penelope. I read just the first text from Dev and run out of the office.

 

SIMON  
I am sitting in front of a plate stacked high with arepas and a large café con leche. I’m not sure if I’m lucky to end up in places with good food, or if I just like food, any food. The café is on a busy street in Bogota and facing a mountain. I’ve been pleasantly surprised how cold it is here. Namita helped me find an organization here that funds and trains staff at children’s homes around Colombia. I feel silly that I didn’t realize there would be a lot less English spoken here than in India, but I remember a little Spanish from school and am learning more as quickly as I can. Besides, I have staff to help with that. Yep, I have staff. Well, one person who reports to me, but it’s still crazy that I’m anyone’s boss. Namita must have really sold me to the organization to take me on. I’m supposed to be working on a large scale evaluation of group homes for older foster children.

I’ve been here three months. Tomorrow, I head out to tour facilities in the towns and villages on the northern coast. With Mumbai and all my experiences there, I know what it’ll be like, and I also know that there will be things that totally surprise and fluster me, and I just have to roll with it. I know I have something to offer, some way of helping. I just have to listen for it. I can’t wait to meet all the kids.

I also plan on going surfing for the first time while on the coast. I wish for the thousandth time that Baz was here with me. I try to limit my calls to him to once each month, and in the meantime I keep a running list of the things I want to tell him. Each time we talk, I want to tell him to come here. I want him to know me now, the person I’ve become. I finally feel like Baz would be proud of me. I want to share it all with him, but I know that would be selfish. His life in London is finally where he wants it to be. And I’m still not sure if he’ll ever really forgive me.

When I get home after work, I check my personal email and am surprised to see one from Malcolm Grimm. He’s never sent an email, and I’ve never emailed him. I worry for a second that something is wrong with Baz. But the email is pretty uninteresting – except that it’s from Malcolm Grimm.

> _Dear Simon,_   
>  _I hope this email finds you well. We don’t get the opportunity to speak anymore since you moved out of London, but I want to make sure we don’t lose touch completely. I know you are a dear friend of Basilton’s, and our family is fond of you. I’m writing to just inquire how you are. I hope your health is well. Please do let us know how you are doing in Mumbai._
> 
> _Yours,_   
>  _Malcolm_

I’m not sure how to respond, but I remember Baz mentioning that his father had been taking an interest in his personal life. Clearly, his father wants to be closer as he got older. And I remember how his father had invited me over when we ran into each other at Baz’s concert. I’m also pleased that maybe it means that Baz talks about me to his family still. So I shoot off a polite and short response to him.


	20. Are you sure it's Malcolm?

PENNY  
Mordelia has lost a lot of weight, she’s wearing unwashed clothing, and she won’t look anyone in the eye. She was scared when we pulled her into this meeting, but I don’t think she was surprised. I hope Dev isn’t upset that my mother is here. Shortly after Dev and Baz got here, I told my mother everything while they told Mordelia what I found. All I could do was delay, but Dev has to know I couldn’t just talk to Mordelia without my mum. At least this way, though, mum hasn’t had time yet to convene the investigation team or try to arrest someone. Oh shit, is Mordelia going to be arrested?

“Mordelia, the best thing for you to do is tell us the truth from start to end,” mum says.

“First, I want to know that she’s not going to be put on trial as an adult would be,” Baz says. The magickal community has very few rules on this still. We’ve managed to imprison some of the Mage’s old associates, but the process was complicated and different for each one. Mum made a point to make the arrests and trials as public as possible (without releasing information on Simon) so the magickal community saw the imprisonment was warranted.

“Baz, you know I can’t make any promises without the Coven. And, you and Dev are the ones who wanted to talk about this first without the Coven. I’m giving you this one chance to do that, but after we talk, I have to report to them.”

“That’s not good enough,” Baz says. “Mordelia is 15 years old. She doesn’t have to answer anything she doesn’t want to.”

My mother exhales. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure Mordelia is treated fairly. I do not want any student under my care to be unjustly punished. Mordelia, I know you must be terrified, but I’m not trying to find fault. Our first concern is the safety of our magickal community. You can help me make sure everyone is safe, especially the people you care about. Right now, there is someone who is engaging with seriously dangerous people to…”

“He’s not trying to hurt Simon!” Mordelia yells out.

“Who?” mum and I say together, while Dev and Baz both try to stop her from talking and cry out, “Mordelia!”

Mordelia looks around at our faces and tears fall down her face. Baz holds her hand and says, “Ok, fine. But I want to know that you both understand that Mordelia clearly never intended to hurt anyone. For Crowley’s sake, she’s Simon’s biggest fan. I want to know that you’ll tell the Coven that.”

I jump in before mum can say anything, “Yes, ok. Absolutely.”

Baz nods at Mordelia, who starts to tell us. “Father asked me to put that disk under your desk. It’s called a gargoyle-ear.” Everyone takes a deep breath. No one is surprised, I don’t think, but I think we’re all angry as fuck anyway.

“Father told me that he was afraid Simon was in trouble, and he wanted to help but that the Coven wouldn’t let him. I heard about the Colombian guy who came to your flat, Penny, and I thought Father just wanted to make sure Baz was safe.”

“When did he ask you to plant the gargoyle-ear?” I ask.

“In April last year. So almost a year ago now.”

“That’s why the guy who gave me the envelope for Simon refused to send it to Watford,” Baz says.

I ask, “How did you know the South Africans were coming after him, Mordelia?”

Mother gives me a look and shakes her head. I duck my head – I never told her Baz knew about the kidnapping before I ever called him.

Mordelia shrugs a bit. “I got curious. I was home for summer break, and snuck into Father’s office and I turned on his computer. …And there was an email from a K. Cohen. He said his men would not fail as others had to get…they called him the One Mage. I figured out they were talking about Simon toward the end of the letter. And then the email said Father should visit Cohen at the Addington School of Magic. And I Googled Addington…it’s in Cape Town.”

The rest of us look at each other with rising alarm. I can see Baz grinding his back teeth.

“What? What is it?” Mordelia says. “I’m sorry! I never wanted to get anyone in trouble or hurt anyone. But I didn’t know what to do. It’s not like Father talks to me like he did with you, Baz. I thought he’d be happy that I did this for him, but…And then there was no way to ask him what was going on. He never mentioned the gargoyle-ear again, and I didn’t know how to bring it up. I know, I should’ve just removed it myself after the kidnapping…”

Dev nudges Baz, who finally takes a breath. “It’s not your fault Mordelia. Father never involves anyone in his ….work. I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Baz puts an arm around Mordelia and kisses her forehead.

“Ok. So now what? Do I have to go in front of the Coven? Where’s the disk? We should pull that thing off before anyone else is hurt…”

“It’s not the disk, Mordelia,” Baz says. “It’s Father. He’s not just stealing files from Watford, he’s helping people hunt down Simon, or hunting him down himself. Father is the real danger.”

 

BAZ  
My fangs grow, my breathing gets shallow, and I turn away from Mordelia. I’ve never felt this before and I need to get a grip. I excuse myself from the meeting, saying I need to go to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face and look at myself. Anger, fear, heartbreak, self-loathing, rage…I can’t begin to describe what I’m feeling. My father…

Dev walks in. He flinches when he sees my face, but he calms down enough to ask, “Baz…what is going on? Who are these men your father is dealing with? Why is he after Simon? Simon hasn’t had any real power in years.”

“They think they can replicate Simon, the way he was. The Mage was Simon’s father, and he kept extensive notes on the spells he used to make Simon into a powerful mage while he was still in the womb. Then the Mage told a bunch of power-hungry psychopaths that they could have their very own Simon, but he never delivered the spells he said he would. Now, all the thugs are coming out of the woodwork; they want to …dissect Simon,” I turn away from the mirror. “And, apparently, they’re being led by Malcolm Motherfucking Pitch.”

After a few minutes, Dev puts a hand on my shoulder, “Baz, I know you’re upset, but we’ve got to figure this out together. Take a deep breath.”

I laugh dryly, “I don’t think breathing is what we need here…”

Then Penelope comes crashing in. “Baz, what are you doing!? I stuck my neck out for your family. My mum is already pissed we’re not following any protocol. You can’t just walk out. Get back in there and let’s make a plan”

“No. No planning or talking or gathering information. I end this now. We are not giving that man any more time for any thing. He used me, he used Mordelia and he’s going after Simon. He’s ready to destroy our family and the community to get power.”

“There’s more to it,” Penny says. “Your father may be the link to get to the rest of the Mage’s former associates. We might be able to put an end to this once and for all…if we do it right.”

Dev pulls at my arm. “Let’s talk this through with the headmistress. You won’t survive going up against your father on your own. And we’ve got to make sure Mordelia and all our family are ok.”

I look at Dev and sag. I wish desperately that Simon was here, but that makes no sense. He’s safer in Colombia.

I go back to the meeting room, and see that again I have several missed calls. This time, they’re from Daphne. I call her. She does some small talk cheerfully, like we’re chatting on a Sunday afternoon, not at 11pm on Wednesday.

“Daphne, is everything Ok?” I finally say after she asks me about work a second time.

“Well, Basil, I don’t mean to worry you and I’m sure it’s nothing, but…well, I thought you might know more than me, and….it’s your father.”

“Yes?” I give a look at the others and they get quiet.

“Well, he’s been traveling a lot lately. I know work keeps him busy, but he seems to take more and more trips that are … unplanned.”

“Where is he now?”

“That’s why I’m calling: he just left an hour ago saying he chartered a jet to take him to Bogota…for business,” Daphne says and I hear her voice waver a bit. “What could be in Bogota? Why would he leave out of the blue like that? He’s never gone there before.”

“I don’t know, mother. I’ll try to find out. What time did he say he’d get to Bogota?”

“He said it would take about 16 hours to get there. So I suppose by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ok. Don’t worry. I’ll find out. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t mean to put this on your shoulders. If it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I thought maybe your father had talked to you about this business of his in Colombia,” Daphne says.

“I’m glad you called.”

Daphne does not like to ask me for anything, usually. She tries hard to be the one taking care of me. I’ll have to tell her about Mordelia when I call her back tomorrow and I’m sure she’ll be better at handling this than me, but first I have to call my father.

 

PENNY  
We convinced Baz to make the call on speakerphone with all of us. Well, first we all tried to convince Mordelia to go to bed, but she is as stubborn as Baz, or worse – almost as stubborn as I was at her age. Baz does the talking with his father, and we all listen.

“Mother said you’re on your way to Bogota. What kind of business do you have there?”

“Oh, nothing to worry yourself about, Basilton. Just some opportunities in real estate that came up all of sudden, and we have to make some decisions quickly. You know how real estate deals are, you have to be there in person for them.”

“Actually, I’d love to learn. How about I come with you?”

“Well…don’t you have work to go to?”

“I can make an excuse. I’d love to learn more about the family business.”

“An excuse? Really, Baz…that’s not like you. It’s just one of many real estate deals I do, son. There’ll be others. Besides, I’m already at the airport. We’ll be taking off soon.”

Baz swallows. “I don’t like you leaving me out of the family business, father.”

There’s a long pause. I don’t know much about Baz’s relationship with his father, but I’m sure he’s never been defiant. He used to chide me for talking back to my parents; I took it as a compliment. Finally, Malcolm says, “Noted. Next time there’s an interesting opportunity, I’ll make sure you’re with me. We’ll talk when I get back. It looks like we’re about to take off.” He hangs up. We look at the phone sitting on the table between all of us.

Baz has cooled off. The fangs are gone and he’s looking at his phone thoughtfully. “Maybe…maybe there’s another explanation? Maybe my father’s really doing a real estate deal in Bogota?”

“We have to call Simon.” My mum pulls out a phone – an old, cheap phone that has no Internet capabilities. She had an assistant get it for her a year ago when she first learned of the leaks. She puts her speakerphone on, which surprises me. I thought she’d be done sharing information with Baz and his family and would make this call in private. Simon picks up after a few rings.

“Hello Headmistress Bunce! I was actually just about to call,” Simon says with so much sunniness that it’s hard to imagine we’re on same planet. I look at the five of us around the table, in a drab little room away from mum’s office. Everyone’s skin looks pasty and bags are forming under our eyes.

“Simon, I hope all is well,” mum says. “I’m here with Penny, Basil, Dev and Mordelia.”

“Oh, wow. Um…were you guys just hanging out and decided to call me?” Simon laughs.

“Something like that,” mum says, looking now straight at Baz. “We wanted to check in that you were ok.”

“I’m good. I’m good. Actually, I just landed in Cartagena this morning. I’ll be in this part of Colombia for the next month or so. …Is everyone actually there?”

We all clamor to say hello, trying to sound normal. Simon says hello, then adds, “Actually – Baz and Mordelia, you would not believe. I got an email from your father just yesterday!”

Now we all hold our breath. “What did he say?” Baz asks quietly.

“Nothing really, he just wanted to say hello. It was really nice of him.”

“Did you write back?”

“Yeah, of course. Right away.”

“Did you tell him where you are?”

“No. I mean, I said I left Mumbai, but not much else. I know I’m not supposed to put that in email. What’s going on?”

I look at Baz and say quietly, “Malcolm might be able to trace the email back to Simon’s computer and its location, no matter what Simon wrote in his email.”

Baz’s eyes widen a bit and he says, “Where were you when you replied to Malcolm’s email?”

Simon’s voice still sounds chipper coming through the speaker, “I was in Bogota. I wrote him just before I left. Why?”

Baz puts his head in his hands and speaks quietly, “Don’t go back to Bogota, Simon.”


	21. Chapter 21

BAZ  
Penelope’s mother is impressive. She quickly runs through a list of things Simon is to do and not to do, then hangs up the phone. She calls her counterpart in Bogota – they have a good relationship since they captured Manuel Santos together – and alerts her about Malcolm. They decide to send a team to meet him at the Bogota airport.

Through it all, she assures me that Malcolm will be treated fairly, but now that it appears he’s again after Simon, she has to bring him in to be questioned. So much for luring in the rest of the Mage’s old international ring of madmen. I feel helpless. When I first understood what my father had been up to, I was ready to take my father by his collar, demand an explanation, and then help Headmistress Bunce lock him up. I had started thinking of precise, hurtful words to deliver to him. All I could think is: He used me. He used my sister. And he was going after the man I love.

But I could barely figure out how to extract useful information from my father over the phone; I could only push so much with my father. And I have no idea how to be of use to the totally capable and strong Bunce women. Instead, I am mostly ashamed for my family. Dev and I slept in a guest room at Watford, and Mordelia stayed with us. She clung to me all night, and I remembered what she was like when she was a toddler and wanted to have ‘slumber parties’ with me.

The next day the three of us have breakfast, tell Penny to let us know how we can help, and drive to Hampshire. We will be on edge until we know where Father is. Headmistress Bunce said Mordelia will likely be asked to talk to the Coven (with Daphne in attendance) in a couple of days.

We arrive in Hampshire in the afternoon, and before I say much to Daphne, there’s a phone call for me. It’s father.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Basilton.”

“Where are you, father?”

He gives a short, dry laugh. “You know, when your ridiculous aunt insisted that we try to heal you after the vampire attack, I went along because I thought we could save you. I was clearly wrong.”

“What—“

“Thanks to you, I am forced to go underground,” he says in a sharp and quiet tone that fills me with fear. “When I arrived today in Bogota, my crew learned that I had a welcome party for me – the local school of magic and its governing council apparently think I’m a threat. Their security detail was at the airport ready to depose me. Luckily, I used some magic to get our plane back in the air without any clearance. …Do you know why they’re after me?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps because you're a threat to the World of Mages?”

“No, don't be smart with me. I’ll tell you. Because I worked hard to make sure my family, my children, my heirs, would have all the things I have. That our family would long have its rightful position of power in England and the world. I almost had Simon in my hands, and I would have secured our family’s well-being for centuries to come.”

  
I can hear spit flying from his mouth as he gets louder. Now he's bellowing. 

“But it seems that you have decided that’s not to be for our family! It seems that you have single-handedly undermined our family legacy!”

“Father, that’s not quite…”

“It’s my fault for letting you stay. Your stupid aunt and stepmother were soft on you. I should have known better than to defer to two emotional women. I let them convince me to raise you as a magician. I was pleased at first that you were at least disciplined and grateful enough to abide by the family’s rules. But now this…this…”

“This!” I lose my cool. “This?! This is you, father, not me, using your own daughter. This is you going after an innocent man – a man I love –“

“Love! Don’t you dare speak of love, Basilton. You are not capable of love. You have no soul, remember. You have no heart! You don’t know love. You only try to mimic it so no one knows the monster you are. You don’t know family. You would betray your own father. That’s what you are.”

We both go quiet. Finally he says, “Let me speak to Daphne.”

Daphne speaks to him for barely two minutes. When she gets off, she looks at me with large fearful eyes and I see her whole body tremble. I’m afraid for a minute she’ll kick me out of my own home. Instead, she pulls me into an embrace. She holds me hard, though I can still feel her shaking.

Finally she says quietly, “Your father is not coming back.”

 

SIMON  
The water is less salty on the Pacific Ocean side of Colombia. The waves are much much larger. And the food…well the food is still pretty terrific. Surfing makes me even hungrier than usual and the seafood here is amazing. After Malcolm disappeared, I convinced my organization to let me do an extended evaluation of children’s homes in other parts of the country. The first month the team and I were in the satellite office in Cartagena (on the Caribbean Sea) and traveled the surrounding area as planned, then I spent a week in limbo, waiting to hear from Headmistress Bunce. I’m not complaining though. I started surfing classes, and I spent the extra week almost entirely on the beach. So when my organization (Para Los Ninos) agreed to send me to Medellin to continue surveying children’s homes, I happily kept up the surfing on this side too. Though, honestly the Pacific is kicking my arse.

My Spanish is getting better, too. Luisa – the staff person who reports to me (I can’t believe it!) – is less shy about correcting me now. She thought I wouldn’t want a subordinate to point out mistakes. I told her never to use the word subordinate to describe our relationship.

But I’ve got to get back to Bogota soon. The organization is going to start to think I’m just here to sightsee. Finally, one day, I get a call from Penny.

“Simon, you’re good to go.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’ve confirmed that there is no imminent threat. I mean, people know you’re in Colombia, but from the sources we have, it looks like everyone is going to lie low for some time because Malcolm was driven underground. For now, you can just get back to normal life. Well, normal for you, Simon.”

“Thank Merlin. I didn’t want to call Namita and tell her I had to walk out on this organization.”

“Simon, how have you been? Really?”

“I’m good. I work a lot and surf a lot. I’ve met some great people, especially the surfers. Did I tell you I have a staff person reporting to me?”

“Yes, Simon! A hundred times!”

“It’s not the same, though, Penny.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m feeling …homesick?”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that. I miss you like crazy.”

“And I’m worried about Baz,” I say. “I’ve been calling him a lot, but I can’t get him to talk to me about Malcolm. How is he doing?”

“Dev says Baz has just retreated. He’s trying to help Daphne with his siblings, and he spends all his spare time in Hampshire. Daphne told Dev she’s worried about Baz. He stopped playing football and his violin and doing just about anything that makes him happy,” Penny says. “I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s … resolute. Like he has to go to his job and take care of his family and there’s nothing else to be said or done.”

She pauses and then says, “When are you coming to London?”

“As soon as I can.”


	22. Stone cold

BAZ  
I have 30 poems to translate for Hanno’s anthology, but I barely have started on two poems. For the last week, I just read and re-read the same three fucking lines every day. Every word seems to defy definition. I tried to do a straight translation – by the textbook (I cringe at myself) – and it comes out ugly. Frankly, I’ve got better things to do than poetry. I try to go to Hampshire each weekend and visit Mordelia at Watford at least one evening each week. I keep getting texts from my football team, but I’ve told them to count me out of the games. Same for my orchestral ensemble. With father gone, I don’t have time to waste. I’ve reached out to an old colleague in banking to see if I can return. I don’t need a bigger salary, but I do miss the mindlessness and emotionless quality of banking. In the meantime, I have to slog through this ridiculous translation exercise.

Now, I’m sitting with my boss and Caden Hanno, looking together at the only translation I have so far – the textbook translation of two poems. We’re speaking in Greek mostly, but Hanno does love to curse in English. “What the fuck is this?” Hanno says, again talking mostly at my boss, Lauren Miller.

“It’s just a preliminary draft,” Lauren says in Greek. “We wanted to give you something to give us feedback on.”

“Well, here’s my feedback: it’s shit,” Hanno says in Greek now. “If this is all it takes, I can translate this much English. I thought you had writers on staff. Did you put this through some computer program?”

I clear my throat and launch into my best Greek. “Mr. Hanno, I apologize. Your poem has so many layers and such depth, it demands more time for a proper translation. If you can tell us your thoughts on this draft, we will continue to give it the attention it needs.”

“Ok. Here are my thoughts: it’s shit. What is your name? Basilton? Yeah? Don’t call me Mr. Hanno. It’s Caden. And just go back to the beginning. You can throw this in the trash.”

He shakes his head. I can’t wait to get back to investment banking where negotiations were always based on clear interests, namely money. Is every writer an arsehole?

“Do you even know what this poem is about?” he asks looking pointedly at me.

“Heartbreak?” Crowley, did I just make that statement into a question? I wish Hanno would go back to ignoring me.

“Yes, heartbreak,” Hanno rolls his eyes. “Do you know anything about heartbreak?”

I know better than to try to answer that. Lauren jumps in. “Caden, clearly, we need a fresh start. I’m sorry this was unsatisfactory. Give us two weeks, please. I think we can get you something you’ll like.”

Hanno shakes his head but resigns himself to it eventually; I think we’re one of the few publishing houses that gave him a good offer. Afterward, Lauren calls me to her office. “Baz, what do you think of Caden’s poems?”

“I don’t know. They’re good, I suppose.”

“You suppose? When we interviewed you, we were blown away at such a young person being so passionate about a range of literature. What’s going on? You don’t seem to have anything to say about Caden’s poetry.”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. I know I sound like an adolescent. Not myself as an adolescent – my teenage self was at the top of my class and cocky about everything – but like an average adolescent. Crowley.

Lauren shakes her head and gives me an exasperated sigh. “Well, you need to find out.”

I nod and walk out, looking at my feet. I get to my desk, take a deep breath and re-focus. I close my eyes and picture bronze curls, blue eyes, and a thousand-watt smile. There is still reason to be happy today, I remind myself: Simon is flying in tonight.

 

SIMON  
I don’t know how to describe our relationship. We didn’t talk about it after Baz left Mumbai. I still don’t allow myself to call Baz everyday, but we went back to frequent Skyping. I feel closer to him than I have in a long time. I no longer limit our talks to just updates; I ask him about everything, and I tell him every once in a while that I miss him. I’m not sure what is even possible between us anymore; he says very little when we talk and he won’t talk about his father at all. He takes my calls but I’m not sure how much he wants to hear from me. But I want him to know me and I don’t want to keep secrets from him anymore. I still feel like I need to make up for waiting so long to tell him the Mage was my father.

I’m going to his flat for lunch today. It’ll be just the two of us. I’m seeing his flat for the first time since he moved out of Fiona’s place almost two years ago. I’m bouncing on my toes as I wait for him to open the door. When I see his face, I can feel my smile stretch and stretch. He nods and says, “Welcome, Snow. Come in.”

I hug him for a few seconds longer than I would a friend. He laughs briefly and pats my back. I take an appreciative look around the flat and say, “Baz, this is a great place!”

And it is. But I’m mostly just looking at Baz, who has stubble on his chin and his hair has gotten long. He’s wearing a dark blue button-up that’s open at the neck. I can see that his arms and thighs have gotten a little thicker with muscle. It takes serious effort not to stare.

He shows me around the flat and then we sit down to a lunch of salad and soup. Good thing I had a mid-morning snack. He asks me about Colombia.

“It’s fantastic! It’s beautiful, and the people have been so friendly.” I shove a large bite of kale into my mouth and keep talking. “The surfers I met when I was on the coasts visit me in Bogota sometimes. And the work – I feel like I’m learning so much, you know. My boss asked me to come to an international conference on child welfare in Brazil next month.”

“That’s great, Snow. I can’t believe how far you’ve gotten so quickly,” Baz says and then slowly sips at his soup.

I smile at him. “What about you? This job with the publishing house seems perfect for you.”

“Mmm… well, it’s not all that great.”

“Yeah? The Greek guy?”

“Yeah, Hanno. He’s ridiculous. He thinks he fucking invented human emotion and no one else gets it.”

“Damn. That sounds tough,” I root around the salad with my fork. “You know, sometimes it just takes a bit of patience.”

Baz sighs heavily. “Yeah well, I think I’m done. I can’t seem to get my head around this.”

“Well, sometimes you just have to be ok with not knowing the answer.” I shrug slightly. “You have to be willing to learn.”

“Thanks, Snow. You sound like a fucking fortune cookie.”

I roll my eyes. “Baz, I’m serious. You’re brilliant, but sometimes you’re not going to be perfect. That’s not a bad thing. You have to appreciate that others may know something you don’t.”

“You’re so fucking wise, all of sudden, Snow, Baz says with a hard edge to his voice. He leans back and gives me a sneer. “A few months of adequacy at one job and suddenly you’re my bloody mentor. Should I take notes? 1) Be patient and 2) Be okay with your own incompetence.”

“Hey! That’s not fair. I’m just trying to help. You’re the one who said you’re not doing well at the job.”

“If I recall correctly, you weren’t so patient at your first job. As a matter of fact, you called me up ready to bail because India was getting too hard for you. Simon Snow, everyone’s savior, was ready to turn his back on poor children with no family, so he wouldn’t have to face reality.”

I stare at Baz. I remember that call I made from India. I cherish the things Baz said to me, that he believed in me. And now he's turning it on me to remind me how hard those first few months were for me.

“Fuck you, Baz!” I hit the table with my fist and knock the silverware to the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Isn’t that how you do things, Snow? Things get hard or complicated or scary and you don’t want to think about it, you don’t want to talk about it, you just walk out.”

I point a finger at him. “Maybe it’s you, Baz! Maybe you make it impossible to think or talk about anything.”

He’s just looking at me with that sneer, like he’s enjoying my frustration. I push back my chair and get to my feet. My pulse is beating against my temple and my cheeks are on fire.

“You think you’re always right,” I keep yelling between clenched teeth. “You think you’re so fucking brilliant that no one else even has a chance with you. Oh, am I not using my words properly? Should I keep my idiotic thoughts to myself? You never make it easy to talk to you.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Snow. You, who for years would have a fucking breakdown and go mute if anyone mentioned your magic or Watford or fucking goat herders. You want to compare which one of us had to bite their tongue the most?”

“You heartless fucker! I’m sorry I was so fucking difficult after losing my magic, seeing Ebb dead in her own blood, and having killed the Mage!”

“Oh, yay. Finally! Let’s talk about the Mage, your lunatic father,” Baz says, in an almost sing-song tone.

“Don’t talk about him,” I drop my voice, my body trembling.

“Why not?” Baz gives a dramatic smirk. “He was the sociopath who fucked up your life, and, what, no one is allowed to say it out loud? See, there you go again. Something difficult and scary, and you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fuck you. He was my father.”

“He killed my mother. And he had me kidnapped! Why won’t you talk about it, Simon? Why do you avoid all of it? Is it because you still secretly think there’s something redeemable about your father? Are you still too stupid to see what kind of person the Mage, your father, was?”

I knew it would come to this one day. I slam both hands on to the back of my chair, making the chair legs stomp. “I can’t do anything about what he did, Baz! But he was still my father.”

His sneer almost turns into a laugh and he says, “He wasn’t a father, Simon. He was the evil wizard who created you just to use you. Who knows how many different ways he fucked you up. You’re an actual fucking bastard.”

 

BAZ  
I am glued to this chair. I wish I could get up and shake out my body then maybe I could bring this conversation back down to sanity. Instead, I am feeling maniacal and no amount of pain and anger on Simon’s face seems sufficient. I want to make him hurt more. My family has barely managed to keep it together with my father abandoning us for some murderous scheme. I turned on my father in part because I wanted to protect Simon, and now Simon is giving me fucking career advice like all I need is his wise one-liners once every six months. Who the fuck does he think he is? 

Simon has gone still and I can see the rage in his eyes, he’s standing over his chair and holding the back of it so tightly his knuckles have gone white. I’m reminded of when he had magic and would go off when he felt threatened. There is a little sweat gathering at his brow. I want to lick it and then punch him until blood comes out of his face, then kiss the blood away. Then Simon slowly grins a kind of grin I’ve never seen on his face. No joy in it. He starts to laugh.

“And now your father is trying to do the same thing! He's trying to replicate what my father did - create and torment little super mages.”

Simon walks around the table, still chuckling a little. “What do you think that means, Baz? Do we still match? God, I used to think that sounded romantic when you said it to me. Really, it’s just sick, isn’t it? Who would want to match with this?”

“It’s not the same, Simon,” I say, not looking at him.

“No, it’s not the same. Because your father already had a son, he had you. He chose to leave you to chase after me.” Simon walks around to my side and bends over to look me in the face, but I look straight ahead, away from him. “Why did he leave you, Baz?”

My fangs pop out. I swallow. I can’t move my body out of this fucking chair.

“Maybe he just didn’t think you were good enough,” Simon says. “Whatever is wrong with me, your father clearly thought I was better than you. What does that say about how fucked up you are?”

“Get out,” I growl, refusing to look at his face.

Simon doesn’t say another word. He turns, takes a swing and knocks a chair over on his way out. He takes long strides toward the door, not looking back at me, and closes the door with a slam. I sit in the chair staring at the door for another hour then I leave to go hunting.

 

SIMON  
Fuck fuck fuck fuck

How could I have said those things? What is wrong with me? I wanted this to be a special night. After he came to my rescue in Mumbai, I owe him everything. I owe him everything, full stop. I wanted to feel closer to Baz, try to convince him we could still be close. And now, I’ll be lucky if he ever talks to me again. My stomach crunches thinking I may never hear his voice, touch his hand or see him smile for me. What have I been doing these years?

I’m in the Tube heading back to Penny’s. I exit the train and try to come up with a plan to beg Baz for forgiveness. I’ll send a heartfelt, hand-written note. That’s Baz’s style, right? I’ll send flowers. Maybe I’ll get him a gift – maybe a hundred gifts, one every other day until he forgives me. Anything. I run my hand through my hair.

Why did that arsehole have to talk about my father? Does he always have to say the cruelest thing? Well, I did too. But only after he did. What a fucking prick. Thank Merlin I left London. Is this just a sign of what’s become of our relationship? Were we always headed for this? Maybe he was just trying to say he’s done with me. Damn, and the last thing I did was to hurt him. Maybe it’s best if we just pull out of each others’ lives.

 

BAZ  
I wake up sometime after midnight sleeping across my bed (the wrong way across), fully dressed, and smack my lips together, trying to swallow down the nasty taste of blood and whisky sticking to my tongue. I went out and started drinking (both of those liquids) soon after Simon left and didn’t stop until I couldn’t stand up. I think I remember a taxi but can’t remember exactly how I got home.

Well, this is life. This is what it is, I suppose. The pocket of softness and joy in my life is again closing. I’ve been through worse. I know I’m not entitled to anything more. I just can’t waste more time on this shit. I pad to my kitchen and magic up a kettle of tea. Time to clear my head. Tomorrow, I’m going to Hampshire for the weekend to keep sorting through Malcolm’s financial records with Daphne. And by tomorrow, Simon should be locked in whatever corner of my head held him all those years I knew I couldn’t have him. I knew better then. As I move to the dining table, I remember talking to a flirty boy at the bar last night, but thankfully I ditched him. Sex and lust and love are just tiresome. I choose none of the above from now on.

I sip the tea and open my laptop. I see an email from Simon, and my hand holding the cup stops midway to my mouth. I take a deep breath. Maybe I delete it. Maybe I move it into a folder and I’ll open it in 16 years. Maybe 40 years. Maybe I text Simon without reading the email and tell him I’m not accepting any communication from him. Shit. I know I’m just going to read it. All these years later, all the shit from him, knowing he’s pissed, and still every tiny thing that has any part of Simon makes my heart flutter. His name in my inbox, even when I know it’s going to be some awful and moronic follow-up to our fight, makes me feel …special. Fuck me.

 

> _Dear Baz,_  
>  _I’m sorry. Really really sorry. You really were an arsehole today, but I never wanted to hurt you. What I said, about your father and you and everything. They were lies I wanted to get back at you for what you said, but. I hope you know you r amazing. I was so happy to see you. I’m lucky to have you in my life at all. I’m really sorry._  
>  _love_  
>  _simon_

Fuck Simon for being half illiterate but saying exactly the thing to spear my heart, always. I read and re-read the email. Every time I read the email, I feel a little more loosened until I’m crying inexplicably, bawling over four lines in a badly written email. Whatever dam I had securely in place turns to soft, formless clay and everything pours over and out. Simon leaving me. Simon never quite leaving me alone. Father leaving me completely. Failing at my new job. All the power-mongering shit with the Old Families somehow still invading my life, hurting even my sister now. And my mother… Every moment of peace and hopefulness I’ve ever had invariably followed up by misery. I cry loud, screaming and clenching my fists as the tears drop. No one can hear. Then I stop and gulp air through my drooling and open mouth, feeling bewildered and terrified by my own meltdown with no one nearby to talk me down. I wipe my hand across my mouth, shuffle to my couch and fall asleep.

 

SIMON  
I pick at the scone in front of me. I just told Penny about the fight Baz and I had. She’s trying to convince me it’s not so bad, though Baz still hasn’t responded to the email I sent yesterday a couple hours after I left his place.

I dream of scones when I’m not in London, but I can’t swallow this one. I sigh and try to focus on what Penny is saying.

“…Just show up wearing nothing but leopard-skin speedos.”

“What?!” I choke on my coffee. Penny grins. I shake my head. “Sorry. I was listening, Penny. I was. I just can’t focus on anything.”

Penny puts a hand on my arm, “Give him some time…”

My phone rings on the table between us. “Baz!” I grab it and jump up. As I’m answering I look at Penny to excuse myself, and she gives a little nod. Outside the coffee shop, it’s drizzling and I look for a spot on the sidewalk not covered in grey puddle. Baz sounds gravelly and soft.

“Simon.” He’s using my name! “Simon, I got your email.”

“Baz, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.”

“I didn’t mean what I said. I was just hurt with what you said about my father.”

I hear Baz take a deep breath. “I know. …You should stop referring to him as your father.”

“But that’s what he was.”

“He was your father only in terms of biology. And in terms of magic, but that’s only a thing in your case.”

The drizzle is cool on my head, but I feel my cheeks get warm. “Just because you don’t call him my father, won’t make it so, Baz. I can’t change who I am!”

I hear Baz draw in a sharp breath and he gets quiet. “Whatever, Simon. I can’t keep going on like this with you.”

“On like what?” I talk loudly into the phone and people on the sidewalk give me looks.

“Like your typical self. Everything revolves around you. Everything is about your bullshit life, and who you are or are not and all the ridiculous drama that ensues. I never can get away from you. Every fucking place in my life I look, I find you and your stupid catastrophe of a life fucking up everything in its path. Frankly, I don’t have space for it anymore.”

It feels like a giant stone is on my chest. I look at my soaked shoes, and rainwater dribbles out of my hair down my nose. I know where this is going to go. I can’t let it get there. So I tell myself to stay calm. I shut my eyes and press my fingers against the lids. I say, “I’m sorry, Baz. I wish it weren’t like that. I wish me being in your life was only ever a good thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s not, is it? You being in my life is a fucking epic disaster.”

I get quieter. “Maybe I can make it better.”

“No, no. You can’t. You won’t. I know you. This is who you are. You take all the air out of a room, and I can’t breath when you’re around. Let’s not pretend anymore. There are too many ruined things in my life with your fingerprints on them.”

That’s not fair. I scowl into the drizzle, bite my lip and ask, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying maybe it’s best if we’re not in each others’ lives.” I hear Baz take a deep breath. “I’m saying this doesn’t make sense anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. ….I’m saying goodbye.”

My heart cracks and my chest heaves. “No, Baz. Please, let’s not do that. I said I was sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. Look – I’m angry, but I’m not trying to just be mean.” He sounds worn out. “I’m tired of this. I’m not even sure what this is anymore. It’s too complicated, and I have too much to deal with already. I just want out.”

I stare down the grey street. The buildings are grey under a curtain of grey raindrops and the people are hunched under greying coats and hats. I have to hold on, I have to find the right words. Before I can say anything, Baz says, “I’m going to go, Simon. Bye.”

“Ok,” I mutter, and the phone line clicks.


	23. Don't think too hard

**PENNY**  
It’s one of those rare London spring days that’s bright, cool and colorful with tiny flowers everywhere. I asked Dev to meet me at a little public garden, and I, of course, get there early with tea in a paper cup to sort my thoughts before he arrives. But he’s already there, wearing jeans and a thin, tan jacket through which I can see his skinny wrist poking out. I notice the long, dark hair on his wrist and knuckles (that Egyptian heritage, I assume), and it surprises me to think that I’ve known Dev since before he had much hair on his arms at all. We grew up seeing the same things, terrified of the Insidious Humdrum and trying to protect two boys caught in the middle of a dangerous feud. But I never thought I’d call him a friend.

I tug my hair, give him a soft smile and sit next to him on a bench. “I was hoping to beat you here. I wanted to scope out the garden, you know, for a good sniper position.”

He gives a weak laugh. (We once joked I had joined the Watford M16.) But, except for a kind smile he gave when I approached, he won’t look up from his coffee.

“How are you doing, Dev?”

He seems startled at the question, which starts to tell me how he really is. “I’m ok. Baz is working around the clock.” He shakes his head. “Daphne is trying to sort out what portion of the family estate and business she can take over, and what was completely under my uncl — under Malcolm’s control. She’s trying to put much of it in Baz’s name, though she doesn’t want him to have to run it if he’s not ready. Anyway, when he’s not at his office, Baz spends his time in Hampshire to help Daphne. I think he just wants to be with his family. Daphne has been a rock for all the kids.”

I nod, waiting. “I’m worried about them, Penny,” Dev keeps talking. “Baz is quickly cutting everyone out. I don’t think Baz has said one word about his father to anyone. He wants to quit his job, though he just started there. I know he had a fight with Simon last week …. he barely talks to me either, now. Mordelia’s shut down just like Baz. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re doing what you can. They’re probably grateful that you’re with them,” I say. Dev would never say it out loud, but clearly the only reason he even knows what’s going on with the family is that he incessantly checks up on them. I put my hand on his. He looks up at me finally but won’t say anything.

“Dev, what about you? If there’s anything you want to talk about, you know, you can talk to me,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry so many people got hurt. I wish there was a way I could have helped Simon without…without all this. I never wanted Mordelia and Baz or you to get hurt. You’ve got to believe me.”

I find myself near tears, stupidly. I can’t stand Dev and Baz and Mordelia thinking I’m just some cold-hearted law enforcer. Baz barely says two words to me when I call him now. Simon returned to Colombia last weekend after a visit that was too short, and he was devastated that Baz cut ties so decisively with him. “Don’t take anything for granted, Penny,” Simon told me on our way to the airport, holding my hand. “Tell the people you care about how much they mean to you. Nothing else matters.” I know he wasn’t talking about us – we tell each other all the time that we’re going to be best friends no matter what. On my way back from the airport, I called Dev and made this date.

Dev shifts so he’s looking at me. He puts his coffee down on the ground, and holds my hand in both of his.

“I never thought that, Penny,” he says. “I thought – I still think – you were amazing. If you hadn’t found the gargoyle-ears, who knows what would’ve happened to Simon. And if he had been hurt at Malcolm’s hands, it would’ve been much much more destructive for this family than what’s happening now, trust me. …And somehow, through all that, you were looking out for Baz and Mordelia, too. They know it, and they’re grateful. I’m sorry we didn’t thank you sooner…”

I squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to thank me! I just…I was worried…We don’t talk so much anymore. I was worried.”

Dev says in his soft voice, “I thought…I thought you might not want to hear from me, from us.… I’m not angry with you. It’s so fucking ridiculous. We spent years fighting the Mage and accusing him of corruption. Now there’s a new power-grabbing mage – and he comes from our own family. And Baz and I feel helpless. We spent most of our lives being dutiful sons, and now we’re not sure what we’re supposed to do. …But look at you. You know how to protect the people you care about without trampling others. …I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear from me.”

I put a hand on Dev’s cheek and feel him flush a bit so I drop my hand. I try to talk quietly like he would. “I think you’re amazing, the way you look after Baz and Mordelia and the whole family. Your heart is big and I feel lucky that I finally know you.”

He holds my hand tighter. We look at each other for what must be seconds or days or some length of time that allows all the world to go still in the background and yet not allow enough time for me to see everything there is in Dev’s eyes. I move to shift away to a less intense position, but Dev tugs at my hand. “Can we just sit together for a few more minutes? Just…this is …”

“For as long as you’d like,” I say, and I link my arm through his and press into his side. He rests his cheek against the top of my head and I run a finger over the hair on his knuckles.

 

 **BAZ**  
It’s nearly 1am and I am staring again at Caden Hanno’s poem about some romance gone awry. “Fucking overwrought, pretentious drivel,” I mumble at my computer screen. I’ve been invited to a second round of interviews at a huge investment bank next week, and I plan to jump off this rotten, pointless ship of a publishing house as soon as I get the job offer.

So why am I still trying to translate this garbage? I don’t want to go back to my empty flat, and it’s too late to go to Hampshire now. Actually, I know I’m here glaring at 15 lines in Greek because I don’t want Hanno to have won. I want to see that prick speechless as he reads my brilliant translation, and then I want to tell him to kiss my arse because I’m quitting. It feels like all I’ve done is lose lately. I lose with my father. I lose with Simon. I’m not losing to some melodramatic diva with a pen.

There’s a line I’ve translated to: “Negotiations he secured and then died.” Ugh. That is awful. How did I get that from Hanno’s line? When I read Hanno’s original line out loud, there is something that twists inside me but I can’t capture it in English. I think of Simon. Simon. Simon. When I read the line in Greek, Simon’s face – his whole body – floods me. I’m a mess.

I am going to win this stupid thing with Hanno, but I can’t clear my head of Simon. I turn away from the computer, dig out a pen from a drawer (I can’t remember the last time I actually wrote by hand), and pull out a blank sheet of paper. I grip the pen and start writing. I pull Simon out of my head and on to the paper, no form or end product in mind:

> _He’s one person who knew me. I don’t let people in easily. I was ready to keep him out. How did he push his way in? I know how. With his mouth, his eyes that wouldn’t look away even when I didn’t want anyone to see me, his eager hands eager for me. He took me, he took every part of me. He insisted on knowing me, on pushing my walls down, and I couldn’t resist. Now the only man in the world who knows me is no longer in my life. He was a gift. I picture him. He sits besides me and talks loudly, with his hands in the air and his voice a rumbling squeal and what he says is nonsense and brilliance. Everyone who ever sees him must fall instantly in love. How was I ever going to be good enough for him? I am broken and ugly and decaying and grey. He is a hundred textures in one body, a fireball of energy, smelling of sex and sugar. He opened the world to me. I am in love with him, and he is lost to me._

I rest my head on the desk. It feels like I released a breath I had been holding for so long it was burning my lungs. The words are out and I breathe deeply and let my shoulders soften and my cheek sinks down against the desk.

I only realize I fell asleep when a hard finger jabs me and jabs me again and again. I get up from where I was drooling onto the desk and run a hand through my mussed hair. The office is again full of people, and I look down at the office clothes I slept in, my shirt untucked and a random middle button undone. I’m hungry and count five days in my head since I last visited a butcher’s shop or hunted.

I turn to glare at the owner of the jabbing finger, “Alright, enough!” Of course, it’s Caden Hanno, pursing his lips at me, standing over my desk in a red tunic that is so out of place in this office but he must know it looks good against his long black hair. The vain bastard – I start to think that biting him would be justified.

“Basilton, so this is how you work, eh?” he says in Greek. “I should have guessed. Do you think you’ll just dream up a translation?”

He pulls a chair to my desk. I rub at the sleep in my eyes and try not to think of blood. “You weren’t supposed to be back until next week, Hanno,” I say in Greek. I realize this is the first time we’ve talked alone. “Does my boss know you’re here?”

“Well, I’m here now. And I don’t report to your boss. You should thank me, really. I’m here to save your sorry little job, maybe keep you from getting fired.”

“That is no favor,” I say, turning my computer screen away from him as he starts to read the screen. “I wouldn’t mind if I never saw any of your shitty poems again. You can fire me yourself if you’d like.”

“Really,” Hanno starts in a sing-song voice as if he’s talking to a petulant child. “Is Mr. Pitch feeling a little overwhelmed? Hmm? What? Is this the first time someone has told you you’re not perfect?”

“Oh dear,” I say, turning to face him and echoing his tone. “Is this the first time someone has told you your pop music lyrics make for shitty poetry, Hanno?”

“Oh my, I’m devastated,” he says in Greek. “I was so eager to get the approval of an in-bred, spoiled pretty boy!”

“Why would you ever want your poetry to appeal to any reader, for that matter?!” I shout. “I’m sure you only ever get off when you look at yourself in the mirror!”

Hanno is fuming and opens his mouth, but then suddenly he laughs. I’m confused for a second but then start laughing with him. Soon, we’re both clutching our stomachs and laughing. Finally, we quiet down and shake our heads at each other.

“Really, Hanno, I don’t have anything for you,” I say frankly, throwing my hands up. “So, if you want me off this project, I understand.”

“Well, poetry can be difficult for some,” he says and I roll my eyes at him. “It’s not …for the inexperienced.”

He gets up from his chair and takes one more look at me. I flick my tongue against my gums where my fangs would be. If he gives me one more clichéd opinion on poetry, I’m really going to bare my fangs at him. I guess he’s probably about to walk into my boss’s office and ask for a new translator. Instead, his eyes go past me and he points to the piece of paper I had been writing on as I fell asleep last night. “What’s that?”

“Oh, just something I wrote to clear my head.”

“Let me see it.”

“No.”

“After all this, you owe me something worth my time,” he says, yanking the sheet from me. I growl and my fangs pop out, but he’s not looking at me. He’s reading slowly.

Finally he looks gently back up at me, focused so intently on my eyes that it doesn’t look like he’s even noticed that my mouth is fuller than usual. “So you do know what heartbreak is, Basilton,” he says. He looks at me for a moment longer and finally turns back to the sheet, quoting my words in a thick accent, “’I am broken and ugly and decaying and grey.’ How does a pretty boy like you write something like that?”

I swallow and the fangs retreat. I don’t answer, but I’m sure Hanno doesn’t need me to. He sits next to me again and puts a light hand on my wrist, “This is the line, Basilton: ‘Now the only man in the world who knows me is no longer in my life.’ That stupid ‘negotiations’ line you wrote – it makes no sense. Your line, here, that’s what my poem says.”

“I thought your line was much more….poetic,” I’m back to lame words in Greek. “I mean, my words are so simple.”

“It’s not how fancy your words are. It’s what they mean, it’s what you feel – the loneliness – that you capture in this line, that mirrors what I wrote. We need to work on it, but finally we’re starting with the right meaning.”

I look at my line in English and his Greek and see it suddenly, why I felt compelled to even write my paragraph on Simon while fixating on Hanno’s poem. I move my chair closer to Hanno and we hunch over his poem again, me writing the English words I feel as I read while Hanno continues yelling, cursing – and grinning. We have a draft translation – my first ever – before lunch.


	24. This is getting good

SIMON  
I swallow and swallow again, but I can’t wipe out the thick, pungent spit coating my tongue. I groan and press my hand over my eyes, trying to piece together where I am and where I was. Oh right… last night I was at a bar across the street from my flat in Bogota. When did I start getting drunk regularly on Tuesday nights? I grin through my headache, thinking about the cute bartender who kept pouring drinks for me and a couple of friends. I wonder if he’s noticed yet that I show up every Tuesday when his shift starts, sometimes without my friends.

Oh shit – and I have a meeting in an hour with one of our funders!

I wash my face and slap on some deodorant. I’m still buttoning up my shirt as I’m racing down the stairs from my apartment. I curse myself as I reach my office just 15 minutes before the meeting. I like to prepare for meetings, especially since my Spanish is still weak.

I see Luisa and my boss walking toward me. We are a kick-ass team. I know I’ll get some flak for being late, but I smile all the same – because I know we’re going to impress this funder. Because I am grateful to be working on something I care about and to have friends who will get drunk on a Tuesday night with me because I have a crush on a bartender.

On days like this, when I’m running late and worried about a big project, I realize how far I’ve come. Three years ago, this kind of pressure would have made me either shut down and retreat or frantic and on-edge. Instead, I’m feeling calm and confident that despite the imperfections, I’m ready to face the day. I remind myself how lucky I am, but I still sigh a bit as we walk to the conference room – I wish, I keep wishing, that I could share this with Baz. Well, maybe not the crush on the bartender. But I want to share with him my stories from work, what we’re doing for children around Colombia, what I’ve learned. I want him to meet my friends. I want to be getting drunk with Baz on Tuesdays. I want him to see my flat, taste the new food I’ve been cooking. For the first time since I learned the Mage was my father and since I lost my magic, I feel a pleasant sense of pride and purpose.

I want desperately to share it all with Baz, but somehow I’ve lost him altogether. We haven't talked since we fought about our fathers when I visited London. A few times a day, a painful ache will tug at my heart at the unfairness of finally feeling good enough for Baz but having lost him in the process. I can’t understand it. I’m not sure what to regret and not regret. I clear my head, for now, and turn to the meeting. I give Luisa an encouraging and sincere smile, and we start talking about our proposal with the funder.

 

I call Penny in the evening – lunch time for her in London. She tells me how Baz is doing without me having to ask. We no longer talk about my relationship with him, but Penny knows I need to hear about him regularly. It’s been two months since our disastrous fight in London, and Baz and I haven’t exchanged a word since.

“So,” she continues after some updates on Baz, “I’m coming to Bogota!”

“Penny – that’s fantastic! I have so much I want to show you! How long do you have? We should go to Medellin, and I’d love for you to meet some of my friends in Cartagena…”

“I’m coming for a month, maybe longer,” Penny says. I’m smiling so big my cheeks are hurting. “But, Simon, I don’t know how much free time I’m going to have.”

“What else are you going to be doing?”

“I’m going to take a leave from my actual job. But, I’m coming there to work. We both have work to do.” Penny lets out a big sigh. “We need to make a plan, Simon. It’s been quiet, but it won’t be like that forever.”

“What do you mean?”

“Malcolm Pitch has gone underground since we tried to ambush him at the Bogota airport, but we know that he’s not done with you. And neither are all the Mage’s old associates. We shouldn’t wait until someone tries to come after you again. We need a way to rout them out for good.”

“Merlin, I had been trying to stop thinking about that for a while. Sorry, Penny. You’re right, I need to get my head back in the fight.”

“Don’t apologize, Simon. You deserved a break. Hell, you deserve to be free of this forever, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

Apparently, Penny and her mum had started talking to Carolina Cruz – the head of Colombia’s magickal council – a few weeks ago about gearing up to take out the rest of my father’s old network. I feel guilty that I haven’t been more engaged with Carolina or the magickal community here, but I remind myself that this is not just about me. As Penny talks, I realize that thought is new to me. I’m part of a team, not just some over-burdened lone actor. It feels good to understand that.

“We also figured out Malcolm’s role in this,” Penny continues. “He had spies everywhere when he was fighting your father for power. Over the years since your father died, Malcolm’s spies have gotten their hands on most of the same journals and communiqué your father kept that we now have. For years, Malcolm has been reaching out to the Mage’s old associates. Some of them just wanted access to a few of the Mage’s dark spells, and Malcolm offered them for a price. But he’s been using some of the old associates to …get to you, Simon. Anyway, Malcolm is now the central broker and dealer for your father’s dark spells plus he’s trying to replicate you.”

“So Malcolm has taken the place of my father? So I guess he did win the fight for power, after all,” I say with a dry laugh.

“Except it looks like he doesn’t want the dark spells to be used on his own kids. In that way, Malcolm is at least different from the Mage.”

“Right,” I say quietly.

“Sorry, Simon. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. Don’t worry, Penny. So, what’s the plan?”

“I have no idea. That’s why I’m coming to you.”

“I don’t have any ideas either.”

“That’s fine. I just need you to be there while I write furiously on a chalk board.”

I smile into the phone.

 

PENNY  
Time for a giant glass of wine. I pour a glass and sink into the couch, and, of course, there is a knock at the door. This has been happening all day. I fly to Bogota tomorrow, and a slew of folks from the investigation team and the Coven have traipsed in and out of my flat to finalize plans, give me extra charms (grateful!) and advice (less grateful). I am the first from Watford going to Bogota, but a few others will join me in a couple of weeks. I am finally packed and ready, and now I just want to kill a few pesky brain cells with some wine but the investigation team just won’t give it a rest.

I stomp to the door and yell, “What now!?”

I swing the door open to find Dev looking startled. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to—“

“Dev! Sorry – I thought you were my mum. Come in!”

I pour him a glass of wine, and he sits awkwardly on the chair next to the sofa. I’m complaining about my luggage, and he’s smiling politely. I can’t tell him much, but he knows why I’m going to Bogota. We’ve been seeing each other a couple of times a week since our meeting in the park. It’s usually like this – I ramble inanely as he listens politely. Sometimes, he’ll let me sit close to him. Today, he sits in the chair – right there, but too far to touch.

“Penny, keep safe while you’re out there,” Dev says when I pause for a breath. “I wish …I wish I could help.”

“Don’t worry. You always help. You just can’t be a part of this. I mean, your uncle—“

“I know. I don’t mind it, you know,” Dev says, sitting up in the chair and looking at me with a soft smile. “Honestly, I’m proud of Baz and you and Mordelia even and… I don’t mind being in the background for you guys, for someone like you. But I will worry about you until I see you again.”

“In the background! Dev, you are anything but in the background. Crowley, you are, like, in the foreground. If that’s a thing,” I laugh nervously. “You are always there! I mean, in my mind, in my thoughts. I …you are the first thing I think about when I wake up! And…and…”

Am I making sense? I could try more words, but I don’t want to. Instead, I lean across, pull him by his collar toward me, and kiss him soft and long. I pull back for a breath and to give him a chance to pull away, but instead he pulls me by my waist to his lap. No way am I letting him go home tonight.


	25. Is this it?

BAZ  
I lift a glass of wine for a toast and lower my head slightly to try to give the appearance of modesty, but really I’m soaring inside. I just completed the first full draft translation of Hanno’s anthology of poems, and we’re all getting a celebratory drink. My boss, her boss, a couple of colleagues, and even Hanno are all out. Dev stops by for one drink.

Before long, the alcohol is starting to get to my head. Everyone has gone but myself and Hanno. We’re the last ones sitting at the bar, shoulders hunched together, laughing about something into our glasses of …whiskey, I think. I suggest it’s time to leave, but he puts his hand in mine and squeezes. “Stay,” he says softly. I turn and look at the handsome, long-haired, unabashed, talented poet next to me. I can’t figure out what to say, so I keep quiet and hold on to Hanno’s hand.

We order dinner and I start chatting fast about something I read in the news today. In my mind, I try to make sense of what is happening with Hanno. I have no experience of this. Simon and I were thrown crazily together and fell in love in the midst of crises and tragedies and victories. Then the parade of men I slept with in my intense desire to forget Simon – they were mostly one-night stands. Sex and lust brought us together, and we parted easily when those needs were met. This, now, with Hanno – I feel a gentle, open-ended affection coming from him – I don’t have a point of reference for this.

So I start to doubt Hanno. He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know I’m a monster, a vampire. Like the other men, Hanno probably just wants something from me and will go as soon as he gets that something or as soon as he gets to know something about me he doesn’t like.

Then I shake myself out of it. Hanno knows something real about me – he’s read my writing – even if he doesn’t know it all. And he seems to like what he knows so far. I rub my thumb across his knuckles and lean in as Hanno puts a lingering kiss on the corner of my mouth. My breath catches in my throat.

 

SIMON  
“Si, si, si. Mi bolsa…uh…mi bolsa esta….mi bolsa esta STOLEN,” Penny huffs into the phone. A kid slammed into her on the street and took off with her wallet earlier this afternoon, and she’s been trying to put in a complaint to the police department. I roll my eyes. We’re getting nowhere and spending a lot of time doing it.

I pick at the photos pasted to the white board in my sitting room. Penny set up shop at my apartment soon after she arrived. We, of course, decided to live together – maybe it’ll be our last chance, we both said. She’s been meeting with the Colombian magical society almost daily since she got here a month ago, but she prefers to brainstorm at home, in private, hence the white board full of her tight scrawl and photos of the Mage’s old associates. The faces of these awful men have become too familiar. And, not for the first time since Penny got here, my stomach turns thinking that we may soon have to face them.

Penny ends the call, gives my phone back to me and starts listing the things in her wallet, getting more excited. “I mean there wasn’t much money, but it has my driver’s license! And my phone! And my phone has fucking everything! This is why we need magickal law enforcement! If we had police trained in magickal thief-apprehension…”

I pour her a cup of tea and let her rant a little longer. Why is anything ever stolen from a magician, I start to wonder. Shouldn’t we have a spell for that?

“You know, the police – magickal or not – are not going to find one wallet stolen by one kid in a city of millions,” I say, off-handedly just to interrupt. “You know what would work, maybe, is a trap.”

“What kind of trap,” she asks, tilting her chin toward me like she used to do at Watford when we would hatch a plan to catch monsters.

“Crowley, I don’t know. Can we move on to something else,” I say. Then I rethink it, “Actually, I could send a text to your phone, saying I left you money…in an envelope?...somewhere? Um, and it’d have to be in Spanish, even though no other text on your phone is in Spanish, and…”

Penny’s staring hard at me like I’ve lost my head, but then she says, “That’s genius, Simon!”

“It is?”

A few minutes later we’re crouched behind a tall bush to the side of an apartment building with a view of the doorman’s counter in the front lobby. Penny sent a text in Spanish from my phone saying she was her mother’s friend, that her mother had wired some money, and the cash was in an envelop at this building’s front desk with instructions to give it to Penny or her boyfriend this afternoon. I am a genius (with Penny’s help). A few minutes later a skinny kid no more than 16 wearing frayed, yellowing jeans walks up to the building. He doesn’t seem to have any wallet on him but he’s looking up at the building number then down at a phone that has the same bright orange cover Penny’s has.

Penny jumps onto the sidewalk toward him, her fist turned out so her magickal ring is in full view. I am behind her, thinking she’s about to hit the kid with a spell. Penny, though, goes for a more conventional approach and punches the kid in the face before he even looks up from the phone. The ring must have hit his nose, and he screams, holding his face as blood trickles down to his lip. Penny grabs the phone from the sidewalk where he dropped it and yells at him for her driver’s license. He steps back, dazed and scared, still clutching his nose, and seeing me now looming behind Penny. I’m trying to mimic a Baz snarl. It works too well, though, and he bolts without a word. We start to chase him, but he is way too fast. We stop, breathless.

“Damn!” Penny stomps her foot. “I should have made up something to get him to bring my whole wallet.”

“It’s ok, Penny. You got your phone back, right? I mean, what were the chances you’d ever get anything back?” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“No!” she says, sitting on the curb and pulling at her ponytail. “I could’ve gotten everything back if I had just thought it through.”

I sit quietly next to her.

“It’s just so…I’m so…I’m so fucking frustrated!” Penny says. We both get quiet. “I used to be able to crack every problem and riddle and I was always one step ahead of everything. …I’m so sorry, Simon. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been here a month, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

I laugh gently and tap my head softly against the top of her head. “Silly,” I say. “Why would you apologize to me? I’ve got the best friend in the world.”

She looks up at me and chuckles a bit. Then she giggles and suddenly both of us are laughing hard, tears forming in our eyes. “That poor kid,” she says between laughs. “He probably thought we were going to beat him to a pulp!”

“I was afraid you might,” I say and we both erupt in laughter again.

We calm down and Penny smiles at me. “Simon, when did you grow up?” I smile and love her for noticing. Even two years ago, I would’ve lost my temper with that kid in a way that would make Penny’s punch look saintly. She sighs and adds, “Ok, let’s go back to the white board and get some work in before dinner.”

“Oh no,” I say. “No way. I have chased enough villains for one day. And so have you. We are going to get a drink. And it’s Tuesday so…I know just the place.”

Penny pretends to protest, but we are soon sitting across from the cute bartender and Penny is wiggling her eyebrows at me as I blush into my drink.

 

BAZ  
Hanno rubs his stubbly cheek against mine and I moan into his ear. I open my hips further and wrap my legs more tightly around his waist. He’s rocking deeper and deeper into me at a slow pace that’s making me crazy. He whispers how he loves my smell and my lips and my taste. Suddenly, I feel him somewhere deep inside me and I cry out loudly in pleasure. His voice shifts and he growls to me, “I don’t know what I want more – to watch your face or your cock as you come.”

I open my eyes wide at him in desire and I come against our bellies as he kisses me. Hanno soon comes as well and we both collapse in a sweaty mess sprawled across his bed. I look at him, still trying to catch my breath. Dark hair fans across the middle of his chest and he has a thick middle that excites me for some reason. His wavy black-and-gray hair is a mess and sexy as hell. I can’t believe this man wants me. It’s been three months. I know he’s 15 years older than me, but I am just starting to understand how much more he knows than me about sex and desire and cocks and just about everything else. He’s aroused me in ways I didn’t know were possible.

He lazily brushes hair off my forehead. “You’re so different from what I expected, Basilton,” he says.

“What did you expect?”

“I thought you would be cold and exacting,” he says, smiling at my frown. “But you’re not. Hmmm….you’re sweet and warm. Mmmm… well, actually, your skin is always so cold, but…but you’re …a romantic.”

He’s nuzzling into my chest and looks up at me just in time to catch my smirk of disbelief – romantic, indeed – and he laughs at me. I shove him playfully. “Aren’t you supposed to be back in Greece by now?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Hanno laughs happily and pulls me toward his chest. “Actually, I was supposed to leave weeks ago, but there is this insufferable spoiled pretty boy who needs me….”

“Needs you?”

“Yes, needs me to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble again with his big bad client…”

“If he’s that pretty, I’m sure he could just seduce his client…”

Hanno smiles and his eyes crinkle gently as his thumb strokes my cheek. “He could. He’s gorgeous really.” We go quiet for a moment. “Basilton, I love you.”

My smile falters and my ears start a low buzzing. “What?” The words stick in my throat, but I try not to betray my creeping panic.

“Darling, I love you,” he says, kissing my fingers. “You don’t have to say it back. I just…I love you and I want you to know.”

I pull away a little but I don’t know where to put my hands once I take them out of Hanno’s hands. He looks at me with a question.

“It’s just…How do you know? Are you sure?” I say like I’m searching in the dark.

“It’s ok, darling, you don’t have to say it just because I did,” Hanno whispers and tries to move again toward my chest. I move away and start to pull at the bed sheets to cover my body. I wish he would stop calling me darling.

“What is it, Basilton?” Hanno huffs and rolls back to look into my eyes, but I won’t return his gaze. “It’s that man, isn’t it? The one you wrote about.”

“What!? No! It’s not…I… no…”

“For fuck’s sake, Basilton, are you still in love with him?!”

“No! No!” We both get out of bed. “No, Hanno. It’s been years! I’m not…I don’t…”

Hanno angrily pulls on pants and I stand awkwardly. There’s a fight inside me but I can’t make sense of it; I’m feeling a tug in multiple directions, but I have no idea what those directions are. I don’t know what my choices are, what decision I’m trying to make here. I just stand at the bed raking my hair as Hanno walks out without looking at me. I finally rush to pull on my pants and swiftly walk out to the kitchen where Hanno has started tea.

I clear my throat to speak but no thoughts come so I sit at the table as if we’re just sitting down to a nice cuppa in the middle of the night. Hanno is banging cups and cupboards unnecessarily and finally comes to the table with the tea. He won’t look at me as he pours. It’s 2am and the kitchen light feels especially yellow against the blackness outside the window. I settle my face down into a quiet expression.

“So?” Hanno starts.

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t fucking do that. I didn’t meet you yesterday – I know better than to believe all that cool and calm on your face,” Hanno says. He frowns and clenches his jaw.

“Look,” I say evenly, “we haven’t even been seeing each other that long.”

“We’ve been seeing each other three months! We’ve spent every weekend together.” Hanno slams his cup down. “That’s enough time to know.”

“Well, maybe it’s just taking me longer to figure it out.”

Hanno gives a short, dry laugh. “It’s too late for that, Basilton. That’s what you were supposed to say 20 minutes ago. But you didn’t. You fucking panicked.”

I start to protest, but I don’t know if my tone will be believable. Instead, we both sit quietly for a while, not looking at each other. Hanno drinks the tea in an endless sip, kicking something under the table a few times. When I think I’ve sat here for the polite amount of time and start to excuse myself to sleep, Hanno says, “Have you told him?”

“What?” I’m standing in front of him, already on the way back to bed (to Hanno’s bed), and he looks up from his chair.

“Have you told him? Have you told him you still love him?”

“What? I don’t. I…we haven’t talked in months.” Hanno continues looking at me. “We …stayed friends for a while after we broke up, but even then, I never…we never talked about feelings. It’s really not on the table for us anymore.”

“That’s not an answer,” Hanno says. His eyes move over my face and he shakes his head. “I forget how young you are, Basilton.”

“What does that have to do with—,“ I start to say with too much indignation.

“You can tell someone what you feel and what you want. It’s not an imposition to want to be loved, Basilton,” Hanno says. He gets up and puts his soft writer’s hands on either side of my face and kisses me gently. I hold onto him tightly. I’m terrified of what Hanno is asking me to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please please keep on reading!


	26. It's simple, really

SIMON  
I answer the door with sleep crusted in my eyes and no shirt. Who knocks on a door before 6am? I look through the window and lose my breath. He looks back at me and I’m not sure what to do next. He smiles slowly and I become conscious that my own mouth is just hanging open (mouth breather, he’ll say). I cry out something nonsensical and fly to the door to swing it open.

“Baz!”

 

BAZ  
Every time I felt paralysis creeping up into my heart and head these last couple of weeks, I willed myself to stop thinking. I want him and I love him. I won’t hurt him or force him, but damn if I’m going to keep pretending that being without him is just fine. So, after Hanno admonished me, I thought, fuck it – I need to tell Snow, I need to talk to Simon. When I told Hanno, he was livid and unrelenting, which I appreciated because then I knew I would not back down from this, from Simon.

I landed in Bogota at 5am. (It seems the poorer the country, the worse the flight hours. I landed in India at 4am. Meanwhile, most types of planes aren’t even allowed in London between 11:30pm and 6am.)

The plan my efficient brain had thought up was to check into a hotel, call Simon, schedule a coffee, have a thoughtful conversation and discuss what we might do next. But the plane landed and I went out into the dark, chilly Bogota morning and I broke into a cold sweat. All plans went out of my head, and instead I decided I had to turn right around and go back to London. I sat on a bench outside of the terminal, hung my head between my hands, and willed my head to stop screaming. Willed myself to stop thinking. I stopped everything, every thought and sensory input. And all I was left with was the vision of Simon, his taste and smell already in my mouth, the ghost of his soft body pressed against me…I was a mess.

With my head turned off, I mumbled some Spanish and Simon’s address to a taxi driver. I forgot that I even had hotel reservations. And here I am. Here I am. Here I am.

Here he is. He has stubble now. My sweet Simon has a shadow. His curls are standing up in early-morning confusion. His full lips are parted, like they always are, like he has a hundred questions. Like he has an insatiable hunger. Like he doesn’t know anyone is watching.

“Simon.”

 

SIMON  
I grab Baz by his arms and pull him into my flat, closing the door quietly. Penny is still asleep in our room, snoring softly. (She moved a twin bed into the room. ‘It’s like Watford! Only, I finally get the roommate I want!” she had said, as I rolled my eyes.)

“Baz!’ I keep saying his name, like it’s the only way to hold on to him. I can’t help but run my hands up his arms and shoulders. Is this a dream? Since our fight in London about our fathers six months ago, we haven’t even spoken.

“Are you ok? Is everything ok? Mordelia? What—“

“Yeah, Simon. Yeah, I’m ok. Everyone is ok.”

Baz sits slowly on the sofa. I sit next to him, staring, trying to make sure I hold on to this vision.

 

BAZ  
I want to apologize. I want to explain. But I stop before I start. I came to ask for something. I want Simon to give it to me. I don’t want to give him reasons to not give it to me. No apologies, then.

“I miss you, Simon.”

Simon’s face shifts.

“I love you. You shouldn’t have fucking left me. I want you. I always fucking want you. And you …you said you loved me. You …you don’t get to fucking back out of that. You only go where I go. …I only go where you go.”

My voice starts to break and my eyes burn. “Love doesn’t pause so that you can go figure your shit out and leave me. You…I …I’ve loved you since I was 11 and I will always love you. My heart is yours. I can’t take it back. I don’t want to. Fuck! You…What do you…? How…?”

The tears fall and I bite my trembling lips closed, looking away. Simon puts his hands on either side of my face and turns my eyes toward him.

“Ok,” he says.

I laugh despite myself and pull his hands away. “Simon, I know I wasn’t invited. But I came from London and just spilled my heart out on your lap and you can’t just say, ‘Ok.’”

“Ok, yes. Hell, fuck, yes!” Simon says, trying to put his hands again on me – grabbing at my hands and arms and leg. I keep gently pushing him away. I wasn’t expecting this to be so easy. I know I came to him, but now I want him to come to me. I feel a little crazed. I get on my feet.

“What? What do you mean, ‘Yes’? That’s all it took? Then where have you been all this time, Simon? It’s been three fucking years! You’re the one who left – if you’re ready to say yes now, why didn’t you just come to me?”

“I thought…I thought,” Simon says, sitting on the sofa and looking up to me. “In India... after that night…and the morning….I mean, wow, that morning…”

“Simon!”

“Yes, right, sorry. In India, Baz, you had just saved me, and all I could think was how I could make you mine again. I was being selfish. After I finally told you it was my father, my father, who murdered your mother and had you kidnapped. And you had come to save me. And I couldn’t even keep my hands off you. All I do is take from you, Baz….I’m more than that. I want you to know. I don’t want to just take from you…I have so much I want to give you. So, yeah, anything you want, yes, ok, yeah…Fuck, if you want me, that’s…that’s the easiest thing in the world. You have me.”

I collapse at Simon’s knees and grip his legs as I look up at him. It’s too much. Simon puts a hand in my hair and continues talking.

“In Mumbai, you were so ready to leave. I saw your face, and it ….It was like in London, when I first told you I wanted the job in India. You asked me to stay, then you took it back…there was something I couldn’t prove to you, Baz. In London, in Mumbai, so many times, I think I just hadn’t yet proven myself to you. Long long ago you stopped asking me for anything. You stopped wanting anything from me. I couldn’t make you want me…to want me to stay…After that, how could I tell you about my father, about the Mage, and still hold on to you? …I know I was selfish. I should have told you the truth about my father right away.”

I let go of his legs and sit on the floor, looking up at his face. I stare. It’s been so long since I’ve stared at Simon. The bronze curls, the full lips, the plain blue eyes that I never tire of. And now he’s pudgy in the middle, even as his chest looks more powerful than I’ve ever seen. His jaw seems wider, heavier. He is sexy. He’s not a boy.

His eyes rest easily, waiting for me to speak.

“That’s not enough, Simon,” I say quietly. “You put me through hell, you left me and…I still don’t know why.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he slides down to sit next to me. The exhaustion of the flight washes over me from nowhere and I let Simon pull me to his bare chest. I lean in and he kisses my forehead, my cheek, my hair. He rubs my back. “I’m so sorry.”

Words and thoughts slip around in my brain and I give up trying to respond. Simon coaxes me back on my feet and leads me to a bed. I think I slip out of my pants and shirt; Simon tucks me in.

 

I wake up in Simon’s room alone. I’m assuming it’s his room. I notice a smaller bed in the corner and wonder about it for a moment before recalling that Dev mentioned Bunce was coming to Colombia for an extended stay. It’s a large bedroom with a floor-to-ceiling window, and clothing and toiletries are everywhere. There’s a giant painting, covered in swirls of blue and green around a peppery yellow center, like an inverted beach. A mirror hangs in the corner with odd cartoonish stickers crowding the edges.

There is a toy car on the desk, three cloth dolls with bright ribbons in their hair, a miniature neon green skeleton that I jiggle with my index finger, a laptop, and four notebooks. I think about the list I found on Simon’s desk three years ago in London. I wonder if my name is written anywhere in these notebooks. I run my fingers over their well-worn covers but stop myself from opening them. I pull the top drawer in the armoire open and find a pair of grey trackies. I pull on the trackies and the t-shirt I wore on the plane, and walk out just like I would’ve in London.

“Baz!” Bunce swiftly hugs me and I smile despite myself. Simon has a cup of coffee at his lips, but he’s not drinking it and he’s staring at his trackies that I put on. Bunce is talking, asking questions and more questions in the middle of my answers. She, of course, assumes I'm joining the squad of investigators; I make a mental note that I have to check in with Daphne. Simon puts a cup of coffee in my hands, with the cream and sugar as I like.

Bunce announces she’s taking a shower. I turn to face Simon, determined not to swoon. Simon laces his fingers through my free hand and places his other hand on my stomach, reminding me of the deep warmth that is Simon. This time, though, I involuntarily stiffen under his touch. Simon slides his hands around my back. He smells sweet, my mouth twitches.

“Let’s go slow,” I say, my body still and stiff even as my mind starts to swim out into the thick liquid of desires I had pushed down long ago.

“Of course,” Simon says. He pulls back just enough for my mind to clear and I’m unexpectedly grateful. He brings my hands to his mouth and softly kisses my fingers before letting me go. 


	27. We figured it out

SIMON  
In my fantasy (my current fantasy), something awful threatens Baz and I save him at great risk to myself. Or he asks for something and I give up everything I have to give him what he wants. I would prove myself again or for the first time or in a way that negated all the awful things. He would kiss me fervently for showing him how much I indisputably love him and we would live together happily ever after.

Instead, in my real life I need him and he’s risking everything to help me. Again. We’re at the Escuela de Miranda, the school of magick here, with Carolina and several members of our international investigation unit. Mitali Bunce is on the phone. I glance at Baz and hope to catch his eyes finally. He’s engaged in the conversation and I guiltily sit up and look instead to Penny as she goes through possible ways to smoke out Malcolm. It’s not fair that Baz has to be a part of this, but he insisted.

“…or, as a last resort, I suppose we could use a finding spell though he cannot possibly be that unguarded,” Penny finishes.

There’s a silence as folks mentally cross out every idea Penny has put forward. Penny says what they’re thinking out loud finally, “The problem is all of these plans have us chasing after Malcolm. He could be anywhere at this point. Any chase would just be messy and full of dead ends. It would be a colossal effort with no clear path to an end.”

“Ok, let’s put some parameters around this, sí?” Carolina says. “Let’s start by figuring out what we need our plan to accomplish instead of just coming up with as many ideas as possible.”

“We need to get Malcolm to come to us,” Mitali says.

“We want to get some of the old associates of the Mage at the same time so we can seriously weaken this cabal,” says another investigator.

“Right, and we need to know what they know,” Penny adds. “They won’t say a word once we’ve captured them, not these men.”

“We need a trap,” I say. “Not a chase.” Baz gives me a peculiar look, his head tilted. The others hum their agreement. So we plan a trap for Malcolm. We work from the outside in, laying out what the final results of a trap might be in order to figure out what the trap will entail.

I am the bait, the enticement to come find me is new information on my magical origins, and it has to be outside of Colombia where Malcolm already knows investigators are lying in wait. The team’s anthropologist recommends that the trap be set in her hometown in Ghana where some tests can be staged on me in the flesh so that Malcolm will think new information will become available. Plus the Ghana school is in a remote rural area where Malcolm may feel emboldened to try to sneak through, if he got some of the associates to help.

The sticking point then is how to get the information out to Malcolm in a way that seems credible and not planted, given that Penny deactivated all the spyware she found.

“I’ll tell him,” Baz says.

“What –,” I start to say a little bewildered, but Penny cuts me off with the much more pressing question of “How?”

“I’ll call and email a few family – Mordelia, Daphne, Dev – and tell them I’m going to Ghana to be with Simon for some… difficult tasks,” Baz says. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I’ll drop some hints about how there’s a world renowned magickal anthropologist in Ghana or that they’re doing a study on tracing spells or something. Look, we’ll figure it out, but we all know it’s the best way to get information to my father in a way that won’t be suspicious. I know he’s still able to monitor phone lines and internet lines going into the family estate – that’s an old magic that can’t be deactivated because of his rights to the estate. I still call and email on those lines all the time – I just never mention Simon. So it won't seem suspicious if I'm on a call and let some info on Simon slip.”

“You’d have to make it believable,” Penny says. “If you just say it he’ll know you’re trying to bait him. You’d have to kind of cover it up. Maybe we can coach Mordelia to ask a bunch of probing questions so it seems like you accidentaly let information slip because she was pestering you so much.”

“Yeah, that might work. Let’s ask Dev, though. Not Mordelia. Besides, Dev is good at righteous anger – he can demand to know my whereabouts and go off on me until I break down.”

“Hey! You’re lucky to have him,” Penny yells. Baz smiles and rolls his eyes.

I can't say I feel quite as comfortable with this. Baz should not be part of a plan to bring down his father. How is the team ok with this? We continue talking about details, ways to draw out not just Malcolm but as many of the people he’s working with as possible. I chew on my lip and drum the table with my fingertips. I’m not happy with how this is going, but I keep my mouth shut for now.

After we return to my apartment, Penny gets on Skype with Dev. I ask Baz to take a walk with me. I’m going to ask him to withdraw his offer, even though I know he'll resist at first. We walk through a quiet street behind my apartment building, by red brick residential towers with patches of yellow and purple flowers out front. A woman stands quietly on her balcony staring out to the city. The silence is too much; a little traffic noise would help.

“Baz, it’s brave of you to offer to do so much,” I say carefully, “but you’ll be haunted by this decision for the rest of your life.”

I think about what I want to say next and pause to push down the tears at the back of my throat. “I hate what my father did to me, to you, your family, the magickal community, to the world. I am ashamed of him, I’m ashamed that I followed him so blindly even as he was hurting you.”

The tears break down my cheeks. Baz takes my hand in his but he’s still looking ahead of him, away from me. I’m grateful, and his steadiness helps to steady me. I again take breath and wipe away the tears.

“But I still wish he hadn’t died at my hands. I wish I could have helped him be better. I was no better than him. I used magic to kill…”

Baz stops and draws in a sharp breath. He turns to me and pulls me into his arms. “Simon, you’re not that.” Baz kisses my temple gently. “You’re light and good and genuine and loving and …and everything. I …I never questioned your loyalty to the Mage. I knew you would only be following him for good reasons.”

Baz drops his voice and talks into my ear, “Darling, anytime you ever feel shame, remind yourself of even one way you’ve helped someone else. You have to remember who you are. I have to remember I’m not my father.”

I look up at him and nod. Baz continues, his eyes intensely set on mine. “And I’ll remind you. Every day. I’ll remind you of who you are every day. As long as you let me.”

I see him clench his jaw and remember that he's still working through years of anger at my decision to leave. We haven't talked. I was waiting for him to say something.

“It doesn’t work if you walk away from me,” Baz says with more gravel in his voice.

I pull back a little. “Baz, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for all the ways I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry I let you feel alone. I always only want to protect you, love you, make you feel loved…I’m so sorry.”

I turn away from Baz’s gaze and continue, “But I can’t apologize for what I’ve done for myself. I’m …I’m really grateful for all these last few years in India, here in Colombia …and I can’t imagine what kind person I would be today if I hadn’t tried. I won’t apologize for that.”

I try to make an expression that is both loving and firm, but I’m sure I just look detached while Baz has a storm in his eyes. He drops his arms away from me. I try not to be needy but still lean toward him when he steps away.

He finally says, still in that rumbling voice, “I wasn’t enough for you.”

I let out a breath. I knew this was coming and I don’t want to avoid the argument this time.

“No, no you weren’t enough,” I say as softly as I can. “I loved you then, I love you now, I’ll never stop loving you, but I needed something else, too. I would do anything for you, really, truly anything. There is no one, not even Penny, who means what you mean to me. I never feel at home when you’re not with me. Your opinion of me is more important than anyone’s. I will beg for your forgiveness. But there are other things I need besides you in my life. Challenges, perspectives, experiences… I don’t know. Just…”

Baz turns and keeps walking, his eyebrows scrunched and his beautiful mouth set and unsmiling. I walk next to him, my head down. “Don’t you need more than me?”

He doesn’t answer and we turn at the next street toward a small playground. It’s the middle of a school day so we find only a few small toddlers with their grandparents on the swings and slides. Thank Merlin for the noise of the kids. I remember why I asked Baz to take a walk with me. It’s just like me to talk about myself even when that wasn’t my intention.

“Baz, I don’t think you should help us with this trap,” I say. “I know you’re doing what you think is right, but you’ll hate yourself when you see your father captured. Getting your father is not worth what it’ll do to you.”

We circle the playground and take another turn so we’re heading back toward my apartment.

“I know,” Baz finally says. “I modeled myself on my father. This is going to hurt like hell. But you can't talk me out of this, Simon. I’m going to do it.”

“Why?!” I stop and spin around at him, almost yelling.

In one swift motion, Baz takes me again into his arms, his face an inch from mine. “Because I love you. Because no matter how angry or hurt I get, I will always love you. Because I want everything for you. Because… let me fucking do this for you.”

Baz kisses me with all his anger and love and fear and need pressing into me from his mouth. I kiss him back, grasping at his body and almost crying at the force of his kiss. After a few minutes, he stops and pulls me to his shoulder to hold me closer, both us panting a little and holding each other tightly.

“Ok,” I say finally. “But, you have to tell me. You have to tell me whatever you want from me.”

Baz steps back to look at me. “I’m not like you, Baz. I don’t just know things, I don’t just understand the stuff that’s left poetically unsaid. You have to say it. Just tell me what you want or need. Everything. Anything. I want to give it to you.”

“And what if that keeps you from what you need? Like traveling the world on your own?”

“That’s ok. I’ll figure it out. I would’ve figured it out. I’m glad for what I’ve done, but I would’ve found a different way if you needed me to.”

“We, Simon. _We_ would’ve figured it out,” Baz says. He takes my hand and we keep walking.


End file.
